


Renewal

by Rebve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Clones, Darth Maul Lives, Guilt, Headcanon, M/M, Maul is the divergence, Not really Old Ben Kenobi just Older Ben Kenobi, Old Ben Kenobi, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Sorry not the Clone Clones Darth Maul is a Clone, Survival, Tatooine (Star Wars), That Wizard's Just a Crazy Old Man, These two have a history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 04:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebve/pseuds/Rebve
Summary: Obi-Wan is living in exile on Tatooine, watching over a growing Luke but wracked with guilt over what happened to Anakin. An ailing Darth Maul (a clone with full memories of Obi-Wan killing him) seeks him out, looking for aid on a mission which takes them offworld. Can either find redemption in a the ruin of their lives after the rise of Darth Vader?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul
Comments: 17
Kudos: 80





	Renewal

Obi-Wan Kenobi felt old. 

And _alone_ , if not entirely lonely.

In truth, he wasn’t so aged. Not in years, though the desert had deepened his lines and whitened his hair before his time. The Clone Wars themselves had ravaged his body in ways he hadn’t discovered until years of solitude and meditation had made him aware of the growing number of aches and pains.

He flexed his sword hand in the dark. Even his increased communication with the living Force hadn’t been able to help everything. 

Watching and waiting were far harder, he’d discovered, than acting and doing. It was a far, far more difficult thing to observe than to throw oneself into the fray. 

He made a point of passing by the Lars farm frequently, and listening to the gossip around Anchorhead. The boy was growing well, though his piloting skills were starting to create a reputation. Obi-Wan’s Force awareness ranged wide, though… he could feel the boy’s strength. He did his best to muffle it, weaving threads of the Force around him to protect him, to hide that power from Anakin. His father. 

Darth Vader.

He rose from his bed, stumbled forward in the gloom as his body protested his movements. He’d have a drink—one drink—to help him sleep. 

There was pain, and then there was the pain of knowing what he’d unleashed on the galaxy with his small act of mercy… or cowardice. For the thousandth, nay, ten thousandth time, the thought ran through him, perhaps it was cowardice to have left Anakin alive, there on the lip of that lava floe, to have walked away from him. He could still hear his hate, ringing out. The screaming as he’d caught fire, legless, armless. 

Anakin’s screaming. 

His thoughts followed well-worn paths. Then again, maybe it hadn’t been mercy or cowardice, but vengeance. His own anger, his own rage at his friend—his brother—for betraying him. Betraying everything. His own darkness lashing out.

Weakness, not justice.

The desert at night was a beautiful thing. Clear. Stark. He put his cloak on, the rough fabric catching on his calluses, Jedi-style, but hardly has elegant as when he’d been General Kenobi, hero of the Clone Wars. A low profile meant no supple leather boots or fine-woven robes. Ah, those heady days, the fine life on Coruscant… his only holdover from those times was the amber liquor he poured into a plain glass tumbler, sand-etched, but clean. He always managed to find the credits for that. 

One glass. One drink. 

One memory. 

Outside, he perched on one of the hut’s ledges and leaned back against the stone wall, looking out across the Dune Sea. It was a good location. At least there was this. Vista. Scope. The better to put his own pride, his own hubris, his own failings into perspective. 

He was to blame. For all of it. 

And now he was stuck cowering here. Supposedly guarding the boy, but doing nothing. Doing nothing to stop Anakin. To stop the Emperor. To stop evil and darkness from spreading across the galaxy. Confronted with the arid space stretching out in front of him, the liquor flowing through him, he realized it had all been for nothing. Everything he’d fought for, all those years… lost. 

These thoughts… when he let them overpower him, he separated his mind carefully from the Force. A trick, that. Not one the Jedi had ever taught him. One born of years of solitude and shame. Loss. Loneliness. Sorrow. An emptiness filled only with these dark emotions.

The living Force would never have allowed such wallowing. But Obi-Wan needed to wallow. He needed to drown in that self-loathing pit at times. To flagellate himself for what he had done. 

_I hate you._

He no longer knew if the voice he heard was Anakin’s, or his own.

Slowly, the desert was whittling away at him, bleaching the color from his body, the clarity from his mind. He hoped he’d keep it together long enough to be of some use to young Luke, when the time was finally right. Before he became, in truth, what he knew everyone called him—crazy old Ben. 

With a start, he realized his glass was empty. How he ached to fill it again. One more drink. One step closer to oblivion. 

But he didn’t. There had been times, ten years ago, when he’d given in to that. When he couldn’t stop the memory. When he thought that Anakin had died. Before he heard about the scourge that was Darth Vader. He’d drink himself into a stupor, pass out… it was before he’d claimed this hut. Before he’d scraped together a kind of pseudo-life for himself.

He watched the stars for another long moment. Then went inside and carefully rinsed his glass, bringing himself back into the Force, stretching his awareness out, out, out… Luke, other entities, the vast fabric of it all, so easily accessed now, after all the years of meditation, seeking casually, quietly, other sparks like himself. The Force always welcomed him without judgement, as if it were the ocean—massive, eternal, teeming with life.

Tomorrow he would go for supplies, perhaps as far as Mos Eisley. Someplace his presence would go unremarked.

For now, he turned his face to the wall and, at last, slept.

  


Mos Eisley was a good place for forgetting. He could settle himself in the corner of the cantina and forget that he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, mentor to darkness, and just watch beings of all sorts just… be. 

His bar of choice served the worst sorts. It amused him, to make up stories about them all, these transitory spacefarers, passing through on their way down and out. To give them histories, and lives ahead, to suss out why they were there, why they drank, if they were killers or victims, thieves or marks. 

Sometimes people approached him. Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he gave into the needs of the flesh and lost himself in a woman. Sometimes a man. But he was always… apart. No one knew Obi-Wan from Ben. But less and less he needed these things. Less and less the desire to hear his own voice would possess him, the bubbling thirst for the touch of someone else. He always returned to the desert alone. Passing by to see Owen and Beru when the boy was not around. Observing, watching, waiting, sinking into inaction.

Stillness. Quiet.

Sometimes he felt like he would become the desert. Calcify. Turn to dust. Be ground apart into grains of sand. Pieces of himself, like rocks, faceted by the wind.

One night in Mos Eisley was plenty. One night of people. One night in a rented bed, unwisely dizzy with drink. The next morning he carefully balanced the panniers of supplies on his eopie and headed back out into the wastes. He’d long ago reached a sort of detente with the sandpeople. They understood him, feared him slightly, left him alone. There were other hazards, but none that weren’t easily turned aside with a gentle application of the Force. And none worse than the beings in Mos Eisley. 

He was deep into the desert when he realized he was being followed. The alternate route then. The one that did not pass the Lars farm, but that he used frequently enough so as not to arouse suspicion. Checking on the boy would have to wait. Stroking his beard—now peppered with white—he contemplated setting a trap, but extended his senses out. The follower felt strangely familiar, oddly benign. He led it home instead. 

Slowly, deliberately, he put away his things, then sat down to wait. 

Darkness fell. Fittingly, he emerged.

“Ah… you,” Obi-Wan said without thinking.

His was a visage one could not forget. Black and red.

“Kenobi,” said Maul.

Obi-Wan made a dismissive huffing sound. “Back to that, are we? I thought we parted on better terms.”

The Sith stepped into the circle of light around Obi-Wan’s doorway. He scanned him, noting the changes, the similarities. Gone were the flowing robes, replaced with more utilitarian gear, still in shades of black and grey, but not as menacing. Age was often difficult to gauge on non-humans. Maul was hairless, but more of his horns were missing and there was a new gauntness to him.

The eyes that studied him back were a startling green.

“Not here to kill me then,” he said, covering surprise with humor. He squinted. “Are you… the same you?”

The other man nodded. “Yes and no. This is the selfsame body who fought you when last we met. Though I am clearly not quite the same.”

Obi-Wan stood, feeling himself oddly excited, oddly thrilled by Maul’s presence. “Come inside then. Drink with me.”

Maul nodded curtly. Obi-Wan welcomed him in.

  


It had taken a long time to find him. Maul wasn’t even sure how he’d done it. Some combination of meditation and trusting in the will of the Force. He’d followed tendril after tendril, each drifting strand of connection bringing him closer. Using the Force was always a risk. He did not think his former master sought him, but he could never be sure. For a man playing such a long game, he could occasionally be whimsical. Whimsically cruel. 

He surveyed the interior of Obi-Wan’s abode. A shithole, really, cluttered with junk, with only the basic space needed for one person to survive. Kitchen, couch, bed, fresher, monk-like in austerity if not tidiness. 

The Jedi wandered the room, picking up things, “As you might imagine, I rarely entertain.” He cleared a spot on one of the benches and indicated Maul should sit. “Have you eaten?”

Maul waved away his concern, and did not take the proffered seat. “Why are you here? Why do live this way? I did not figure you for a coward, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan stilled, helplessly turning over some item in his hands. “When the Jedi were slaughtered, I retreated. There were not enough of us to fight back.”

Maul crossed his arms over his chest. “Others do.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him then, and Maul marveled at how different he looked, hardened into some essential version of himself, dash and vigor chiseled away. His voice though, his voice was the same, gentle, kind, “Some of us are forced to walk a path not of our own pleasure, but of necessity.”

A chuckle escaped Maul’s lips. Old habits died hard. He took one step forward and pressed Obi-Wan backward against a column that divided the kitchen from the rest of the shitty room. He used only his body, not the Force, but pinned the other man back, seizing his wrists and catching him by surprise. The Jedi must be out of practice. Thus immobilized, Maul said, low in his ear, “Pleasure hardly seems to be lacking in your life, from what I saw.”

Against him, Obi-Wan stiffened and pushed back, refraining from Force usage as well. “You don’t know anything, Maul,” he answered.

Maul held him. “Do you do it for money, then? Who would pay for you, old man?”

He felt the surge before it hit him. The Force push sending him stumbling backward, breaking his grip. 

Laughter erupted from his lips as he righted himself. “Easy,” he said in apology. “Sometimes I find being good a chore.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long minute, then shrugged and turned to go into the kitchen. 

“Whiskey?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he poured two glasses and returned, holding one out to Maul as he sat gingerly on the pallet in his sleeping alcove. Maul took the glass and drank, finally easing his body down upon the cushioned bench. He tried not to wince, though when he looked over at Obi-Wan he knew his pain had not gone unnoticed. 

“I cannot decide,” Obi-Wan said, at last. “If I find these new eyes more or less disconcerting than the old ones. They clash, you know, with the tattoos.” He made a circling gesture in front of his own face, frowning. 

Maul smiled grimly. It hadn’t been gradual, the change. It had happened suddenly, and for no apparent reason. “I returned to my master, all those years ago, as we discussed. I was punished for my absence but he did not discover my memories. I continued to act as his apprentice, carrying out my missions for years. Most often what he had me do was wiping out other scourge of the galaxy. It seemed… good in its own way. Then… he sent me to kill a Jedi. I intended to do it. I could not.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, stroking his beard. “So you just switched sides?”

Maul grimaced, threading his fingers between his horns. It had not been so simple. He remembered the Jedi’s Force signature, so bright a silvery, shimmery blue, much like Obi-Wan’s. He’d extended his blade, intending to fight, intending to destroy the young Jedi. And then his Force had refused to answer his call. It had been like a physical blow. A searing pain, that wall between him and power, swiftly erected. Familiar rage had coursed through him and the wall had shaken, shuddered at the onslaught of his anger, but it had held. He’d thought the Jedi was causing it, but when he met his blue-grey eyes, there had only been consternation, and expectation… wondering why Maul did not strike. He thought then that his master was testing him again… but as he sank his awareness deeper, he found that he himself had built the wall. And he found he was unable to dismantle it. He’d retreated in confusion and anguish. Lost. He’d asked it of Obi-Wan before, long ago… what had he, without the dark side? What was he, without the Force?

Nothing. Less than that. 

Looking up, he only said, “I blocked it all. All access to the Force, for a time… I hid myself.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze was cold, speculative. “And Palpatine did not notice?”

Maul shrugged. “How am I to know? He was distracted, at the time… grooming your apprentice, slowly, setting the trap. Pulling his puppet strings. Perhaps he thought me dead. Perhaps not.”

“If he had… the clones. What of the clones?”

Maul shrugged again.

Obi-Wan looked at him sorrowfully. “I never found them. I did try… there at the end, I had a lead. I thought I was close, but the events…” He stopped then, in the grip of something, his eyes far away. “The events that led to the end of the Jedi did not allow me to pursue it.” 

A familiar zinging pain enveloped Maul. The pain of inaction. The want of violence he had learned to suppress but always craved. Destruction. He’d hoped. In his own cowardly way, he’d hoped Obi-Wan would do it for him. He thought he wanted to destroy them. But he’d never known for sure… how would it feel to look at one’s own likeness and extinguish it? Stupid. He’d never shied from challenges. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the immediate need to smash something. Break something. Obliterate something. Physical things a surrogate for emotions, indestructible in and of themselves. 

“Show me again,” came Obi-Wan’s soft voice. 

Maul opened his eyes and looked, knowing what Obi-Wan wanted. The blue-grey eyes, surrounded now by a web of encroaching wrinkles, searched his. Even he, looking into a mirror, did not recognize those green orbs in his face. The stare was intense, thorough, excoriating… Maul could not look away. Obi-Wan did not. 

At last, Maul found the will to speak, “I quieted my mind and listened to the will of the Force.”

A smile split Obi-Wan’s greying beard. “Did you?”

It was a joke. Yet, Maul was deadly serious, he found. “The Force… the light side… allowed me to use it. To dive in. I floated in it. My eyes did not change. I found a place in the Outer Rim, much like this, I worked at a place like the one you visited in Mos Eisley, hiding in plain sight among the lowest of the galaxy. I made…”

Here he laughed. It seemed so ridiculous to say out loud. Ridiculous that he, of all people, might lay claim to using that word. Obi-Wan waited. Fuck. What did he have to lose. The man in front of him knew more about him than any other being yet living, including his former master. 

He blew out a breath and spoke, “I made… a friend.” He waited for Obi-Wan’s laughter, but it did not come. 

“A friend,” said Obi-Wan softly. It contained a galaxy of loss. 

Maul nodded. “Yes, I know. She had a farm. Eventually I moved and helped her work it. The cycle of life… the animals, the crops… it brought me closer to the Force than I had ever been. The Force you’d showed me. The one that offers, instead of obeying. I soaked it in. One morning, Kasia woke me, and when I opened my eyes, she gasped, and burst into tears. My eyes were clear… I’d hoped, vaguely, the tattoos would follow, but they did not. Just the eyes, but that was enough.”

“What happened to your friend?” Obi-Wan asked.

Abruptly, he stood. Suddenly, it killed him to be there, talking to Obi-Wan, revealing too much, so quickly. This was not how he had imagined it. Not at all. Being with the Jedi brought old thought patterns into play. He felt weak and scorned his weakness. His mouth molded into a sneer. He wanted to say something hurtful. Lash out. He gritted his teeth together hard, unwrapped unbidden fists with difficulty. 

“Maul,” said the Jedi, gently. 

“It is _not okay_ ,” Maul snapped, anticipating what he was going to say. Comforting words Maul had no business hearing. “I need sleep.”

“My home is your home,” Obi-Wan said, rising, sweeping his hand grandly over the meagerness of his hut. 

“I will camp outside.” It was too small. Too enclosed. Too _full_. 

The man nodded, but then gave him an inquisitive look, “But you won’t leave, will you? I will see you in the morning?”

Their eyes met yet again. Maul nodded and swept his way to the door. 

“Things always seem better by the light of day,” Obi-Wan called after him. 

The differences between them were still vast and obvious.

“Not to me,” he answered. 

  


Without Maul, the hut suddenly felt more empty than ever. Obi-Wan poured himself another drink and tossed it back violently. Then another, willing the sudden tremor in his hand to still.

Maul.

After all these years.

Obi-Wan looked around in the dim light of his various lanterns. Shabby. He’d forgotten what it was like to live gracefully. What was the point. Without really deciding to though, he began wandering his small abode and putting things away, idly, restlessly, momentum building until having the room clean held the zeal of a council mission. Clutter, dust, dirt, sand… all being wiped away in a frenzy of activity interspersed with alcohol that left him spent afterward—emptied out—but still not exhausted enough to sleep. 

Maul. 

What if Maul had never existed? What if Qui-Gon had lived? Would Anakin not have been a better Jedi had he been Qui-Gon’s padawan instead of his own? Would Qui-Gon have known how to train the boy? Would he have seen the things that Obi-Wan had missed? The need for vengeance, the loss, the over-powering desire to protect, which created a lust for power so strong… 

If Maul had not killed Qui-Gon, would the Jedi still exist? 

Would Obi-Wan’s own life be without the one grand failure he could not forgive himself for?

Maul. Maul. Maul. 

Life was a series of decisions, of choices… many unremarked on, unnoticed, simple things… but some… oh, some one could look at it and see… here is one life, and here is another… hinged on that one choice. Life splitting down the middle. Only the Force knew if the other life, the life not chosen, would truly have been better… but _the choice_. In hindsight, that one choice… so wrong. So very wrong. The other way had to be better. 

Qui-Gon’s death was one such.. Well, not really a choice… but a divider. 

If Obi-Wan had been faster, quicker, not left him alone… the galaxy would be different. 

If Obi-Wan had made _certain_ … on Mustafar…

He sagged down to his knees, in front of his storage chest, opening it, reaching inside. There… Anakin’s light saber. Why he’d picked it up from the hardened lava, he did not know. Now, he intended it for Luke, when the boy was ready. Soon. Years ago, when the Temple had thrived, Luke would have been in the heart of his training, almost a Padawan. Now… nothing.

He really was crazy old Ben. He’d given the boy nothing. Done nothing. 

All he did was sit, and watch.

And now… Maul.

Here to laugh in his face about how far he’d fallen.

General Kenobi. The Great Negotiator.

He poured yet another drink, and drank it.

Sooner or later, he’d pass out. And think of nothing, but burning eyes against black and red skin would haunt his sleep.

_Kenobi._

_Wake up._

Light beamed behind a face, as he blinked awake. Green eyes. Not the same. 

“Obi-Wan,” the voice insisted. A strong hand gripped his face. “Wake up.”

Obi-Wan sat up, or was pulled up, squinting.

The voice continued, “Damn fool, Jedi… drinking and _cleaning_ were you? So exotic, so decadent… you really take your debauchery seriously, don’t you?”

Blast it. _Maul._

“Why are you here, anyway?” he groaned.

“I told you I’d see you in the morning,” Maul said.

“No. _Here_.”

The demon actually laughed. He’d heard Maul laugh before, but it had always been a taunt, a derisive sound, the prelude to a sordid tale Obi-Wan would not want to hear… this was actually something light-hearted. He swiveled his head to look at the other man, the _former_ —it seemed—Sith lord.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that question,” Maul said, his lips crooked in a smile. “I do not know if you will like the answer or not. Perhaps we should break our fast first.”

Assured that Obi-Wan was upright, and in the waking world, Maul stalked off into the kitchen. Obi-Wan watched him go. How long had it been? 20 years? More than that? He and Maul had both been in the prime of their youth when last they’d met. Or… something like that. Maul’s situation was complicated. And now… Obi-Wan was almost fifty. He should have had many vital years as a Jedi. Instead, he’d been on this lovely excuse for a planet for a decade. 

He visited the fresher, showered the stink of alcohol off of him, drew on the living Force to scatter the cobwebs in his brain and returned to the main room to find Maul setting out food and tea on the little round table he used for almost everything.

Maul glanced at him, taking his own seat. “You look better. So does your home.”

“I haven’t had much cause to clean.”

“Slovenliness seems anti-Jedi.”

Obi-Wan did not dispute that, but countered, drinking his tea, “There are no Jedi.”

“ _You_ are a Jedi.”

“I am nothing. Not any longer”

“That’s my line.” Maul sipped his own tea, giving Obi-Wan a measuring look. The years had treated him well, or he had taken care of himself. There were lines hidden among the tattoos, but his body seemed fit and strong. They tucked into the small meal Maul had prepared… eggs and fried tubers. Some rough bread fresh from Mos Eisley.

“So…” Obi-Wan began.

Maul wiped his red and black face with a napkin. As he had before, that time long ago, Obi-Wan found himself delighted by such small, domestic gestures from Maul. He imagined he could store an image of Maul folding laundry in a secret happy place for years of future enjoyment. Perhaps he would ask him to do it. He had empty years to fill, after all. At least he hoped so. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head. He was losing his mind. 

“I am here to call in an old favor,” Maul said bluntly. 

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t recall owing you a favor.”

“Favor is perhaps the incorrect word. When we parted last, not long after we dueled and you pummeled me to a pulp, you said your hand would remain outstretched to me, should I wish for help.”

Obi-Wan thought. Indeed. He had said that. Shortly before Maul had kissed him, if he recalled correctly. A more bizarre moment he had never experienced. He looked at Maul’s lips now. Obi-Wan had been through much these twenty years, he wondered what myriad things Maul had experienced. He wondered if Maul was capable of sensuality. He’d explained his experience with Sivrelle… Obi-Wan’s friend, the Jedi healer… explained other things… but that kiss to Obi-Wan had been more in the nature of a strange communication, rather than a seduction. Some kind of bizarre vow, or expression of thanks, or something altogether different. He drew himself back to the present where Maul stared at him expectantly. “I imagine that I meant help in escaping your master, which you seem to have done a fine job of all on your own.”

“And your promise to search for my clones and destroy them?”

“I kept that bargain. I searched until I was no longer in a position to do so.”

“What prevents you now? What holds you here?”

He could not explain that to Maul.

Maul squinted at him and tilted his head. “You guard something?”

He carefully did not think about why he was there.

Maul sighed heavily. He sat back and closed his eyes, then looked back at Obi-Wan, resigned.

“I’m dying,” he said. “This body is dying.”

“How do you know?”

Maul shook his head. “Scans. There is a disease growing in me, eating at me. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to live this long. Always meant to be replaced by a fresh model.”

Obi-Wan drank his tea, not looking at Maul. Surprisingly, Maul made excellent tea.

“Obi-Wan,” Maul began, his name soft in his smooth voice. “For the first time in my life—or lives—I find myself afraid. I am… old enough. I am not afraid to die. I am afraid to come back. I am afraid to be in his power again.”

“You said he was distracted, that maybe he doesn’t care anymore… perhaps nothing will happen.”

“Or perhaps my consciousness, my soul, if you will, will become lodged in some slumbering clone somewhere, with no one to wake it. And I will live forever, imprisoned by cryo-sleep. That sounds pleasant, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. He had meditated. He had even communed with Qui-Gon, in this time on arid Tatooine, he knew there was more after death. But not if one was stuck as Maul described.

Could he afford _not_ to help him? He once was someone who lived by a code. Could he turn his back on that now? That aside, if he did not help him, could he do it without arousing suspicion as to why he could not abandon this ashbucket of a planet.

“Do you know where the clones are located?” he said noncommittally. 

“Yes.”

“How long do you have… before…” 

“I don’t know. A month. Maybe two. At most a year. But it will get worse. There will be pain. Weakness. If I act, it must be soon.”

Nodding, Obi-Wan raised his eyes at last to Maul’s. “Not just trying to go out in a blaze of glory are you? I cannot go with you… not that far.”

Maul sagged, before quickly covering it up.

“No… no, I mean… I will go with you, but only if this is truly feasible to accomplish. I cannot join you for a suicide mission. My life is not my own. Not yet.”

  


  


Contrary to what he expected, Maul felt anything but relieved by Obi-Wan’s acquiescence to his plan. 

It wasn’t, perhaps, his agreement in and of itself, but rather the way in which it had come about. Finding the Jedi in a state of drunkenness was less than reassuring. A complete shock really.

This was not the calm, confident Jedi Maul had seen last, on Selebaraan. Not the assured man whose faith in the Force was unshakeable, who would go on to earn the reputation as an excellent tactical general, a negotiator of outstanding finesse, and one of the greatest Jedi to ever live.

No. This man… he was nothing short of a mess.

Maul glanced over where Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot seat of Maul’s small starship. In the two weeks they’d spent together, Obi-Wan had gathered himself together significantly but still seemed rough around the edges. They’d argued over his clothes.

“You cannot go out into the galaxy in these rags, Kenobi,” Maul had said.

“My rags are fine.” The Jedi-style garments were distinctly not fine. Threadbare in places, and clearly of poor quality, they made him stand out as much as a suit of the finest clothes would. Maul had dug through his supplies to find something for the other man.

“Let’s see what you would have looked like if you weren’t a Jedi, shall we?” he said, throwing Obi-Wan the clothes.

The results had been gratifying. Dressed in a shirt, pants and jacket more befitting of a smuggler, Obi-Wan was still fit and lean, even after all these years. Like his clothes, his hair and beard were unkempt, though, grizzled with grey. Maul walked around him, reached out and touched his fingers to the grey locks. “We’ll need to do something about this,” he said, then pierced the Jedi with a look. “Do you even train anymore? I hope the state of your person does not represent a complete breakdown of discipline.”

Despite the fact that his body was failing him, the constant pain… he still gloried in what it could do. What he could do with it. Maul himself still got up every morning to go through his routines, stretching and limbering his muscles, honing his instincts, maintaining the ever-important relationship with his weapon and the Force. The “other” Force. It came as naturally to him now as the dark side had when he was young. It didn’t mean he forgave himself for all the things he’d done. Nor did it mean he’d stopped fearing a slide back into his old ways. 

“You’ll find I’m still proficient enough,” said Obi-Wan. “With some new tricks up my sleeves.” He flexed his arms, testing the range of motion in the blue-dyed gornt-hide jacket. 

“Care to test me?” The suns had been setting and in the cooler air of oncoming night, he and Obi-Wan had squared off in a flat area near the hut that was sheltered by rock formations. Grinning, Maul had taunted him, “I’ll go easy on you, old man. One blade only. Training strength, I cannot afford to injure my only ally.” 

“Ally… that will take some getting used to,” Obi-Wan drawled, 

The flare of his red lightsaber between them gave him an old thrill of excitement. He had not dueled with sabers in so very long. Thanks to his old master, Jedi were hard to come by, and Maul found a blaster was far a far less conspicuous weapon, and did the trick nine times out of ten. People, unfortunately, tended to take notice when a light saber was used. And the last thing Maul wanted was notice. Still, he mourned the loss of elegance. The low hum of a lightsaber in his hand, the sweep of its movement, the effortless slice, cutting away people’s lives. He sighed and focused his attention. He might use the other side of the Force, but he was by no means reformed. It was a daily struggle.

They began the dance with each other, feeling each other out, experimental feints and parries, giving away as little as possible while trying to entice the other to over-commit. True to his word, Obi-Wan had lost none of his strength or ability. Both of them had learned patience, over the years. The dazzling flurries of youth had given way to deliberate movements. Precision. Strategy. A greater attunement to the Force made it hard to outwit each other. At the end, Maul was merely glad to call it a draw, and thankful neither of them had hurt the other. 

Afterward, while cutting the Jedi's hair, he’d laid out his plan to Obi-Wan, now sure that it was worth the trouble to bring him. He’d located the facility on Coruscant. They would travel there together under the guise of traders. With as low profile as possible, they would slip in, cut the power, and destroy in a way that would make it look like an accident. 

“That’s it?” Obi-Wan had asked with a raised eyebrow. “You think it will be that simple?”

Maul had nodded confidently. He really had no idea, but he needed to do this. He needed to try and he needed Obi-Wan with him. He couldn’t entirely care about what Obi-Wan needed in return.

And now that they were on their way, it concerned him even less.

“Where was your farm,” Obi-Wan asked him, bumping him out of his reverie. He looked up to meet the Jedi’s clear blue eyes. With his beard and hair now neatly trimmed, he seemed far more vital, less lost. 

“Vernet,” Maul answered. “It was greener than any place I’d ever lived.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard and stretched his legs out in front of him as the shimmer of hyperspace flashed beyond the cockpit window. 

“Don’t ask,” Maul insisted, rising. Vernet was as close to happiness… no, _contentment_ … as he’d ever experienced. He did not want to talk about what had happened there. He passed through the transom and into the small common area of the craft, heading to the galley to find tea or something else to pass the time en route to Coruscant. 

Familiar pre-mission nerves drove him. He knew his plan was sketchy, at best. Perhaps the disease was eating away at his brain as well as his body. Long ago, he would never had gone into something so unprepared. Then again, that was what he’d done when he’d charged off after Obi-Wan the last time. But he’d been in far worse shape then. Now, the fear drove him. The fear of being returned to the service of his old master, the fear of being stuck. He closed his eyes. It was hard to see the living Force in space. 

“I have not been back,” Obi-Wan’s voice came from behind him. The Jedi leaned on a support beam, reaching up above him in a manner that seemed far more youthful than his grey hair belied. Maul had been seeking the living Force, so the energy coming off Obi-Wan was immediately apparent… a spiky emotional dread below a different physical need for action. 

“When were you there last?” Maul asked. He remembered his last time. The night before the failed mission to the kill the Jedi, he’d met with Sidious, then been left alone. He gone out, gathered what supplies he’d needed, observed the myriad species roaming the underbelly of Courscant. He’d chosen a particular club, teeming with a loud sort of dark side energy, and skulked in the corner, allowing himself to remember, for a moment, under cover of all that roiling emotion. He remembered Sivrelle, and the spiral of their combined energy during lovemaking. The way he’d felt when her body had vanished. The confusion of the time with Obi-Wan thereafter. Obi-Wan meshing minds with him to show him how to use the light side of the Force. Being unable to express his gratitude toward the Jedi as they were leaving. The kiss he’d impulsively given him and then instantly regretted. The struggle to hide it all way. The relief at being able to think it then. The hasty shoving it all back under before departing the club and leaving Coruscant behind to head out on his mission, little knowing he would never return. 

“It was ten years ago,” Obi-Wan answered. Maul waited, but he did not explain. “As Palpatine elevated himself to Emperor, and destroyed the Jedi. That time.”

“You were on Coruscant? I heard there were battles,” Maul said, surprised. He did not think any Jedi on Coruscant survived. He stripped off his jacket and rolled up a sleeve, taking a jar of salve that calmed some of his aches and pains, and preparing to slather it on.

“Not exactly. I was on Utapau when the order was given. I’d just defeated Grievous. And then… the clones turned on me. My friends. Men I’d served with for years. I slunk back to Coruscant to find out what had happened… and there I found…”

He had looked away from Maul, but the look on his face was terrible. 

“Slaughter?” Maul supplied in the continuing silence. 

Obi-Wan nodded, still unable to speak. He turned to brush past Maul on his way to the small cabins in the rear, but Maul stopped him, putting a hand on his arm. “If there were more room, we could spar together,” he said. Whatever he’d found back then still agitated Obi-Wan. Physical activity would help him. “There are other ways to be physical though,” Maul continued, moving his hand deliberately from Obi-Wan’s shoulder to his neck, thumb hard along his jaw, then softening. “You don’t seem to discriminate.”

The Jedi’s blue eyes met his own in surprise, mouth dropping slightly open.

  


The memories threatened to swamp Obi-Wan. He’d blocked them for so long, the actual memories of what was left of the temple. Of what he’d seen when he reviewed the holo, what he’d needed to see, even as Yoda had warned him against it. The sensation rose in his gorge again… the need to purge his stomach, to deny the truth of what he’d known without seeing, but had hoped to be wrong about.

And there was Maul, standing in front of him. Offering… what? A distraction startling enough to take his mind completely off of those memories. He hesitated a moment, then leaned in, touching his lips to Maul’s, allowing the dissonance of that idea to carry him the opposite direction from the past. Maul’s fingers tightened on his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Unlike years ago, this time Maul’s kiss was assured and sensual, his other hand settling on Obi-Wan’s hip and pulling him closer. He pulled back for a split second, using his teeth gently on Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, easing his mouth open then leaning back in, tongue teasing the edges, slipping inside, caressing his own. His body sprang to life with a fiery need, desire as strong as the urge to vomit had been moments earlier.

His own hands settled on Maul’s arms, finding firm, bunched muscle beneath the body-skimming shirt he wore. Did he want this? What was he doing? Maul’s mouth moved from mouth to neck, and in his ear, the smooth, dark voice whispered, “I don’t want to think either.”

Obi-Wan felt his hands seek the hem of the other man’s shirt, lifting it up, and Maul obliged, leaning back so it could be dragged away, leaving his black and red chest bare in the cold glare of the ship’s lights. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but managed only a soft, needy groan, as Maul’s hands found the entrance to his trousers and opened it up. It would be easy. Easy to do this. Not think. But then, then he caught sight of Maul’s mouth, and the soft smile on his tattooed face triggered another, separate memory… the moment after Qui-Gon’s death, when Maul had leveled that smile on Obi-Wan as he stood helpless behind the energy wall. 

He winced and leaned away, seeing Maul’s now-green eyes well with emotion. “No,” was all he said. 

Maul’s hands vanished from his person, and he leaned back quickly, allowing Obi-Wan to proceed to the cabins, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only betrayal of his calm. Obi-Wan hastened away, feeling simultaneously ashamed and cowardly. 

He knew Maul was different now. 

But there was no escaping the past for either of them. There shouldn’t be.

Behind the safety of the cabin door, Obi-Wan sagged onto the bunk and shrugged out of the loaned jacket. He took note of the disheveled nature of his trouser placket. How could he even have been aroused at the idea of that man… _him_ … touching his body? The Sith who’d killed Qui-Gon and sneered joyfully about it as if to say a gleeful “you’re next” to Obi-Wan? He didn’t dare meditate, afraid of encountering Qui-Gon in the Force, afraid of what his Master would think. 

Then again, Qui-Gon had plenty of ideas about forgiveness. He’d urged Obi-Wan to not blame himself for Anakin’s fall to darkness. But really, who else could he blame? 

His fault. 

He’d known of Anakin’s relationship with Padmé, but he hadn’t sensed the fear attached to it. He should have confronted him about it. Should have told Master Yoda, done something. But Anakin had had so little love in his life, so little joy. There was a marriage, forbidden or no… a vow. A vow that should have been superceded by Anakin’s Jedi vows, but nevertheless. Obi-Wan hadn’t known what to do. Hadn’t wanted to deal with it. He’d let himself be swept along by the necessities of war, continually saying he’d talk to him about it the next time, the next time… later, when things were calmer. 

He hadn’t said a word, allowing it to go on, complicit in his silence… not a word until it was all too late. 

The conversation with Padmé had been terrible. How do you tell someone the person they love has committed an act so terrible as to be… by definition… unthinkable. 

He shoved himself off the bunk and opened the door, just as Maul was passing by. The tattooed man paused, green eyes—so startling—searching Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan braced his arms on the door, holding on to something.

“I found death at the Temple. So much death. Younglings… so small… murdered, trusting…” Obi-Wan let the words, never before spoken, spill from his mouth, watched Maul’s eyes narrow. “Slaughter, yes… but slaughter by Anakin… _my_ padawan. He killed them all. Even the little ones… who came out of hiding because he was someone they knew… someone who’d always been kind to them,” His hands moved from doorframe to press into his skull, as though he was being presented with this knowledge for the first time… again, and he could shove it out of his brain. His eyes no longer saw Maul, but the dead… so many dead. And the holo, the incontrovertible truth of it… a madness, an evil… evil there was no coming back from. Where had it started for Anakin? What had been the first bad choice? There had to have been a different way. Another choice. Any other choice than one like that. It was what separated the light from the dark… good… from bad. Anakin had crossed that line. Jedi were taught to forgive, but that act alone… it was unforgivable.

Obi-Wan had found out later, on Tatooine, that it hadn’t even been the first time. 

And Obi-Wan had not even known. 

Not an inkling. 

For years, he’d fought beside Anakin. 

Years after the first such slaughter.

_You were my brother._

He realized Maul still stood in front of him, watching him, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He was frozen. Lost in a horror years in the past. 

And then, the strangest thing, Maul reached out and pulled him into an embrace, holding him tight, hard against him, until a great cry heaved its way out of Obi-Wan’s body and he slumped against the other Force-wielder. 

“I am sorry,” said Maul. “Sidious had a way of making things seem uncompromising. He took away choice.”

Obi-Wan shook his head against Maul’s shoulder. He was still shirtless… but smelled of some herbal salve. “There’s always a choice.”

“Yes.” Maul’s blunt agreement shook Obi-Wan harder.

“Eventually you made a choice,” Obi-Wan said to him. 

There was a long silence, Maul’s grip loosening as Obi-Wan pulled back. Those clear green eyes against the field of black and red were sad. “Nevertheless, I do not forgive myself.. For many things.” He dropped his hands from Obi-Wan’s person, and entered the cabin across the way.

It was later, in the cockpit, coming out of hyperspace that he said it again. 

Incongruous words from the mouth of a Sith.

“I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan turned to him then. Two hours fitful sleep had restored him to some degree, but the unmistakable image of Coruscant, its concentric rings of civilization, filling the viewscreen in front of him stole any sense of calm again. “What was that?”

Maul looked over at him, quite serious. “I’m sorry I killed your master. I’m sorry I took pleasure in the act of it.” His frown deepened. “At the time, that is. The memory no longer pleases me.”

There were times, Obi-Wan thought, that Maul seemed entirely non-human. 

“You were a Sith, we were Jedi, it seems as though… well, that is to say, I would have killed you with pleasure. I did, actually.” Obi-Wan rarely stumbled over words so severely. Perhaps he ought to check his head for a padawan braid… for one of such advanced age, he felt surprisingly stupid and foolish. “The Great Negotiator”… no longer.

And then, unaccountably, Maul laughed. “Well, let us go kill some more of me then.” 

Coruscant grew in front of them, rings coalescing from pattern into towers and traffic… and they laughed together. Obi-Wan took the controls and helped pilot them in, oddly thrilled to be a part of a team once more. They docked at one of the seediest landing platforms Obi-Wan had ever visited. Together they battened down the hatches before heading out on their mission. “Are you quite sure the ship will be here when we get back?” he cracked. 

Maul, who wore a hooded jacket beneath another jacket, covered his spikes and smiled wickedly. “If it isn’t, then begins another adventure, yes, Jedi?”

Obi-Wan strapped on the blaster Maul insisted upon, grimacing. So uncivilized. “I don’t have time for an extended journey.”

“Well then, let’s make this quick.” 

Satisfied the ship was safely locked down, they disappeared into the throngs together. 

Coruscant was different than it had been ten years earlier. Or so it seemed to Obi-Wan. He had spent some time in the underlayers. But then again, he’d been dressed as a Jedi. Perhaps the difference was merely that. People averted their eyes from everyone else, shoulders hunched as if expecting to be hassled. Stormtroopers patrolled the streets in pockets. Maul and Obi-Wan averted their eyes and hunched their shoulders like everyone else, pulling away from the Force to stay hidden, should anyone be paying attention. 

It was a risk. There was always a chance that either Palpatine or Anakin would sense their presence. It was doubtful, among all these people… but possible. A similar risk to the one Obi-Wan had taken before leaving Tatooine. 

He’d had to stop off at the Lars farm… there had been no choice in the matter. In the guise of having Owen watch his eopie, he’d taken the beast there with Maul following in a speeder. He’d hoped the boy would be scarce, off running through the desert, or doing chores on the far side of the farm. He’d left a package for him, should he not return. The light saber. An inadequate note giving meager, cryptic advice as he’d learned from Master Yoda. A riddle which, once solved, would direct the boy to Dagobah, when the time was right. 

He’d given the package to Owen, making him promise not to open it unless Obi-Wan failed to return in one month’s time. He’d been just about to leave when Luke had come bounding up to his uncle, shying back when he discovered who was talking to him. 

The boy resembled Anakin… blue eyes, sun-bleached hair, the delicacy of his mother’s features giving him an elegance that seemed out of place among the sand. Like his father, he radiated a sense of power. Power Obi-Wan took pains to dampen. 

Maul had stayed in the speeder, but when Obi-Wan had joined him, he’d given him a hard look. As if he’d drawn all the proper conclusions, and knew exactly who the boy was. He’d said nothing though. Obi-Wan tried to pretend there was no reason why he would guess who he was. Maul hadn’t known Anakin. Not really. Very few people had known Padmé was even pregnant. And those who did thought she died that way. 

But Maul. Maul was powerful in his own way. And the Force was a signature. And Luke’s was strongly related to his father’s, which was strongly related to Obi-Wan’s. Which Maul knew intimately. 

It made Obi-Wan uneasy, but he’d had little choice. 

He only hoped it would not be a grave mistake. 

Then he lost himself in the crowds, following Maul as he effortlessly rented them a speeder, then a second one, using a series of untraceable methods, keeping his face in shadow, dealing with the sorts of people who wouldn’t ask questions, deliberately not taking notice so as to have nothing to report later. They moved further and further away from one of the many centers in Coruscant, to a warehouse district.

“He owned whole blocks in this area, bought in secret. He could do anything out here and no one would notice,” Maul said as they approached on particularly large factory-type building. Huge windows and balconies ringed the upper floors. Maul took out some electro-binoculars and scanned the area. “Electronic surveillance.”

“That rules out the mind trick. What’s your plan for getting around it?”

  


  


Maul covered his sense of dread with the small tasks entailed in the mission, slipping into old habits of subterfuge. He stared at the familiar building in front of him. His “home” for many years. He never thought he’d be back. He also never thought the clones were stored here. But this was where the trail had led. 

“Speed,” he answered Obi-Wan. “Plus a temporary power outage, and a well-timed diversion.” 

He tapped his communicator, setting in motion a meeting which was sure to cause confusion and cover any kind of interest into his activities there. Predictably, two rival Coruscant gangs appeared in short order, spitting mad… each thinking the other had called them there with the kind of insults which couldn’t be ignored. As the groups hollered at each other and started fighting, he force-tossed a piece of equipment at a particular camera, knocking it out, then ran to the power link to the building, disabling it. 

“In we go,” he told Obi-Wan over the din. “We have two minutes before the back-up power starts up. We need to be in before that happens.”

They slipped inside the outer gates, in an open atrium area, bizarrely quiet for Coruscant, then used a crowbar to wedge open another set of doors. Maul led the way inside, making a series of turns, descending a set of stairs. They both heard the generator chug to life, just as Maul entered the room where it resided. He made a series of cuts to a particular cable and sparks flew. Using the Force, he guided the sparks to a particularly flammable object, which immediately started to smoke atrociously—a nasty, acrid, chemical odor accompanied the black smoke. 

“Perfect… that should make it much harder to see, and also short the back-up power.” 

“Where are the clones…” Obi-Wan asked impatiently. 

Truthfully, Maul had little idea. He closed his eyes and risked extending his senses with the Force. He should be able to find himself, right? But then, did clones in cryo-sleep really give of any kind of Force signature? This could all be fruitless. 

But then… there it was. 

“I see them,” said Obi-Wan at the same time as Maul found himself away from himself. 

“Two floors up,” confirmed Maul. It was near a loading dock. 

Amidst the smoke, and the in the darkness of the continued power outage, Maul and Obi-Wan made their way upstairs using light sabers to guide them, following the thread. They encountered no one. 

“My skin is crawling,” Obi-Wan said. 

“It’s him.” Maul knew the feeling. Sidious had set this place up. He hoped it was residual energy, and that he wasn’t actively monitoring things there anymore. And he’d timed this little excursion with an off-planet trip. The Emperor, as he now liked to be called, was supposedly on Sullust. 

Giving him a sharp look, Obi-Wan intoned, “This is a very bad idea.” 

“Is there any other kind?” Maul asked, grinning. “You can scold me about it later.”

They rounded a corner and the trail ended. They were there. A blue door on the left. 

Maul took a deep breath, and tried the knob. It opened easily.

This was going stupidly well. 

Generally speaking, those were famous last words. 

The room they’d been guided to was small. Not nearly large enough to hold the many clones Maul had seen in his mind. In the center was one cryo chamber. He strode over to it as alarms started blaring… a response to the smoke no doubt. 

Lights still shone on the chamber… the comforting hum of its continued operation loud in the quiet room. “Battery back-up?” Obi-Wan said. 

Maul nodded. He found he didn’t want to look inside, instead, he stood by the door, aggravated by his own hesitance. Sith do not hesitate. But then again, he was no longer Sith. Not really. But could you ever stop being Sith? Obi-Wan claimed he was no longer a Jedi, but it was patently not true. However, confused or depressed or _fucked up_ he was, Obi-Wan still exuded all the Jedi-ness one could want. 

Obi-Wan brushed by him and looked through the glass lid. “You look so innocent in your sleep,” he said. “But where are the rest?”

Maul broke out of his fog and strode forward. Yes, there he was. Beneath the glass, a perfect copy of him lay, undamaged, the age he’d been when he’d fought Obi-Wan last. Did the clone dream? If he woke him up right then, would he have a personality? He did not know what method Sidious used to transfer his personality, his memories, into the fresh clone, nor did he know if, before Obi-Wan had sliced his last body in half, if his own body—his current body—had housed another soul, now lost… or buried. Maybe this body’s soul was the one with all the weakness. Who loved the healer, Sivrelle, who tested the light side with Obi-Wan, who asked for forgiveness, who _hesitated_. If he destroyed this clone, was it murder? 

What if he could wake it up and have a brother? What if he woke it up and it tried to kill him? 

“Maul,” prodded Obi-Wan. “What is your plan? We should do what we came for and not linger.”

_Damn and blast._

Obi-Wan was right. It was hardly the time for a philosophical debate, especially one strictly in his own mind. “We destroy the battery back-up, make it look like an accident.” He went to examine the back of the chamber, seeking the right spot to disable it, and how to make it look like anything but a lightsaber strike. 

“No.” Obi-Wan stared down into the chamber, but his voice was firm. “If you’re going to do this, you need to make certain.” Then he shook himself and locked eyes with Maul over the cryo-chamber. 

“Sidious will know it’s me. Once he starts digging he might discover that you were with me. Then he’ll know we’re both alive.”

“And he’ll know we’re not to be trifled with, right? I am serious. You cannot leave this to chance.”

Maul’s eyes dropped to the sleeping form. It was the most bizarre feeling to look down at himself. A younger self. Perhaps he should try to wake the thing… give a fighting chance. It was even more bizarre to imagine fighting himself. 

Act. He had to act. 

The cryo-chamber lid opened. Blaster fire rung out, sparking in the dark room. 

Maul gaped in shock, staring at the smoking ruin in front of him. 

Obi-Wan, holstering his blaster, shoved him, pushing him toward the door. At the entrance, the Jedi turned around, extended his hand and with the Force, ripped a section of the ceiling down, chunks of ferrocrete crushing the chamber itself, dust flying around the room. 

Once again, the Jedi directed Maul back down the hall where from where they had come. The smoke was spreading, at the stairwell, he reached into Maul’s pack and brought out one of the grenades Maul had brought, keying it to life and tossing it down the hall, shoving it further with the Force. They were at the next landing when the blast shook the building. 

The fight was over outside the building. Neither of them spoke as they retraced their steps back to the ship. Obi-Wan piloted them off the surface. “Where should we go?” he asked as they put distance between them and Coruscant. 

Maul couldn’t think. 

What had Obi-Wan asked him? A destination.

He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.

Then, abruptly the stars ahead of them elongated, and he was pressed back into his seat as the ship entered hyperspace. 

“We’re going to Corellia,” said Obi-Wan when Maul looked his direction. “It’s lawless enough, trafficked enough, and I, at least, will blend in there. You should, too. At least in the spaceport.”

Maul could not find fault with this plan. They’d made three stops on their way from Tatooine, after all, trying to not create a direct path from Coruscant to Obi-Wan’s lovely new home. When Obi-Wan stood and went to the back, Maul followed. Obi-Wan handed him a mug of tea from the carafe they’d made before they landed. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked. 

What had happened?

“Why did you do it?” he asked, finding his voice.

“You weren’t,” Obi-Wan answered. “Hopefully between the blaster fire and general destruction, Palpatine will not figure it out.”

He sank into a seat and put his fingers between his horns. Setting his tea down on the table, he laughed. “I could not do it… I could not slay myself.”

Obi-Wan sat across from him. “I imagined that was why you brought me.”

“I started thinking about him. That other me. I wondered…” he said, wincing.

This… this was not him. Not even the him he had become. Idle chatter. Doubts.

“I should have been able to. I would have… back then,” he added.

Obi-Wan waited, then finally said, “Do not fault yourself. Killing is a thing for which I find it hard to maintain enthusiasm. And this situation? Most unusual. Even the most cold and hardened person would pause when looking at their own visage.”

Maul downed his tea and stood up. His disdain for pity remained unchanged.

“Corellia is not far, we should be there soon,” Maul said, changing the subject. “I’ll get you fresh clothes. Let us clean up, go out, dine on fine food and not think about bad things for a night.”

Corellia was a highly developed Core world, and one Obi-Wan had visited many times. Coronet, the capital city and central spaceport, teemed with activity. It was a good place to go unnoticed, to cover your tracks, to lay false trails. 

Maul surprised him by spraying a black paint over his red facial tattoos, giving him an entirely different look. With a cloth wrapped over his horns in turban-fashion, and the green eyes… he looked more like a pirate than a Sith lord. Dangerous, yes… but the kind of dangerous accompanied by a wicked gleam, rather than the stare of—dare he say it?—pure evil. 

They chose a restaurant at random and had a drink at the bar as they waited for a table to become open. Above them, holovids played on several screens. The news chattered in basic, spouting propaganda. Vader featured prominently in several reports—stories carefully constructed to make it sound as if he was protecting the Empire, while in reality, each action was meant to further cow the people. More slaughter. Rebellious groups wiped out for their defiance (presented as dangerous activities), “criminals” brought to “justice” by the terrifying figure in black. Beside them, at the bar, patrons murmured their dismay, admitting their fear of the Sith Lord through their omissions. Obi-Wan felt ill. It was hard to reconcile the fact that inside that fearsome armor was Anakin… who must be scarred and disfigured, likely in torment. Obi-Wan hoped he was tormented, anyway. He hoped he punished himself for the evil he brought to the galaxy. If there was any shred of the Anakin he’d claimed as a brother, he hoped he suffered. Then he cursed himself for the thought.

He drank deeply from his glass, and met Maul’s eyes over his own drink. They were speculative, and when he lowered his glass, the dark lips curved into that mocking smile. Obi-Wan lashed out, “How does it feel to be replaced?”

Maul merely let out a scoffing laugh, “Don’t try to get my goat, Kenobi. I don’t envy him.” He jerked his chin at the vidscreen. “He’s in his own hell, rest assured.”

“I both celebrate and mourn that,” Obi-Wan said, honestly. “It is disturbing.”

“Care to talk about it?” Maul asked, ordering them two more drinks.

“No.” Every time he thought about it. Every single time his brain called up the memory of Anakin lying there on the edge of the lava, it was like agony. It was as if someone ripped out his chest and left him standing there, heaving, trying to gasp for air without lungs to do so, watching as his heart spilled out to the ground below. 

_I loved you._

They were called to their table, outside on a terrace, softly lit by candles at each table. A warm, humid breeze blew over them. The liquor throbbing through him allowed Obi-Wan put aside the memories for right then, to relax slightly, distracted by the pulse of people around them, the unfamiliar murmur of civilized conversation. The rare feeling of being surrounded by people who weren’t desperate, who were there to enjoy themselves, and had the means to do so. 

“Life goes on,” Maul said, as if reading Obi-Wan’s mind.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he answered, perusing the menu, wondering when the last time he’d done something like this was. “Or you could say that people bury their worry deep, preferring to carry on as if nothing is out of the norm, as if complete terror and anarchy weren’t lurking right around the corner.”

Maul laughed again, a genuine chuckle this time. “I used to be the terror and anarchy waiting in the wings.”

Despite himself, Obi-Wan smiled back. Who would have guessed Maul could be humorous? “Do you have another name?” he asked, out of the blue. It seemed suddenly ridiculous to address a man as an action.

Maul drew a finger over his lips, eyes far away. “I must have… once. But I don’t remember it. I must have had a mother, a father, a home.”

Obi-Wan considered this. “I don’t remember those things either. At least, I have my name, though.” Then he looked up at Maul. “Was he terrible to you?” 

Leaning his still powerful body back over the chair, Maul said, “When I really think about it, I wonder that I am sane at all. That I am capable, at all, of any good emotion. He was terrible, yes. I was not nurtured, I was beaten into compliance. I was raised to be a machine of death. Yet, I felt keenly my own power as I grew. Some people, I would hazard, grow up with a family and still never know this. Not like I did. Having a mother and a father is no guarantee of love, after all, though it should be, if there is any sense to the universe. If what the living Force promises is real and true.”

“Perhaps the living Force has limitations. Perhaps the dark side counters it, balances it, and the fact that there is any good, at all, is a triumph.” 

Further discussion was cut off by the need to order food, but once that was accomplished, Obi-Wan felt compelled to lighten the mood. “We should choose another name for you. An alias, if you will. What would you pick for yourself.”

“Maul,” said Maul flatly, voice low. “It suits me.”

Obi-Wan waved a scoffing hand at him. “You are not entering into the spirit of the game.”

“Is that so, _Ben_?” Maul replied viciously.

Obi-Wan merely nodded in assent. “Surely there must be some name you’ve wished was yours. The simplicity of Ben drew me to it.”

“Such fancies never appealed to me,” Maul said. “I am what I am. One cannot change the past.”

“One can change the future, though.” Obi-Wan regarded him thoughtfully. For some reason his mind drifted to the varactyl who’d served him briefly and loyally in his defeat of Grievous, and who was shot down as mercilessly as Obi-Wan had been by the clones when they turned against the Jedi. Boga had been that one’s name. It was fierce and beautiful. Maul did not seem like a Boga, exactly… but a varactyl, maybe. There was a word… in another language… of all the fragments Obi-Wan maintained… “I would call you Varas. For strength,” he said finally.

Maul shook his head in exasperation. “Call me Varas, then, if it means so much to you… but not just yet. If we destroy all the clones. It can be a new name for the end of my days.”

Obi-Wan did not yet want to talk about their next step though, and was thankful for the timely arrival of their meal. He and Maul ate in silence. It had been many, many moons since Obi-Wan had eaten such carefully prepared food. He tried to savor each bite appropriately. He noticed Maul appeared to do the same. 

“When did you leave Vernet?” he asked.

At first, he thought Maul might not answer. “Five years ago. Kasia was… the Empire put an end to her.” Obi-Wan carefully pretended not to notice that Maul could not actually describe her fate aloud. “Some minor infraction… and they hauled me in. I knew I could not… be… imprisoned. I could not be brought to notice. I slipped away, began wandering. I had the ship. I took on odd jobs… charters, smuggling… small things. Unnoticeable things. I began, without planning to, to search for you. Reports were that you, along with all the Jedi, were dead. But I cannot explain it… I _knew_. When I realized I was sickening, I intensified my quest.”

“How did you find me? It should have been impossible.” In fact, it made him uneasy in the extreme.

Maul shrugged. “By feel alone. It wasn’t as if you’d left any clues. I drifted through all of the places you go in the galaxy to hide. Well, it seemed like all of them, there are thousands of bolt-holes and bottomless pits. I followed the barest traces of you. I ended up on Tatooine. Imagine my surprise. Ending where it began. I wish it had been you I’d battled then. How _alive_ we were.”

“We missed our prime. There were some glorious times in the Clone Wars…” Obi-Wan surprised himself by feeling nostalgia for those dark times.

“We would have been on opposite sides,” Maul pointed out.

“Would we? Did you join any resistance forces?”

Maul shook his head. I toyed with the idea of Black Sun, or some of the other groups… but in the end I wanted only to keep my head down. To disappear. I spent many years that way. Then Kasia…”

“You loved her,” Obi-Wan said.

Maul went stony. “Love,” he said finally. “I do not know if I can love. But I suppose… yes, I suppose I did love Kasia. She showed me… many things. How to live, really. I am uncomfortable speaking of it.”

“I am sorry.” He felt to say any more would only startle Maul out of a moment of self-reflection, but he meant it. Right then, Maul did not look like the monster who had murdered Qui-Gon. Murder. That was not the right word. They were dueling. It was a fair fight. Qui-Gon died honorably, in battle, the way most Jedi would have preferred. The way Obi-Wan would. Probably the way Maul would. He’d said it before, all those years ago on Selebaraan… he and Maul could have been brothers… had the Jedi found Maul before Palpatine had.

The server took their empty plates and presented an array of confections… decadent desserts. Obi-Wan would have said no, outright, but caught a look of wonder on Maul’s face, quickly hidden. He insisted they order two. Watching Maul try a chocolate tart filled him with a giddy sort of laughter. The kind of laughter he’d not felt in years. So long. He’d been alone too long. 

“I amuse you?” Maul said, lips quirking in a smile.

“You’ve changed,” Obi-Wan said, tamping down his laughter.

“For the worse, no doubt. I used to be so disciplined,” he said wistfully.

“Yes, I always imagined you subsisting on three drops of water and a single bean.”

“Ah, no… it was more than that. That would be inadequate to nourishing this body. At my best, I required a full cup of water and _five_ beans, no less,” Maul insisted, deadpan.

There was a temptation to linger. Drink more. They paid the bill but wandered the crowded streets of Coronet for awhile longer. They covered ground… discussions keeping far away from any of the heady and dangerous topics such as what they were going to do next, how Palpatine could be stopped, whatever it was Obi-Wan was doing on Tatooine, or how to exist in harmony with the living Force. Instead, they talked about books they’d read, farming techniques, the relative merits of Dorneon or Oseon brandy, what kind of animals made the best pets and was it better to be rich or widely traveled.

It was a bizarrely normal excursion.

And it came to a halt quickly once they reached the ship.

They’d offloaded a “cargo” to cover their tracks, and it was time to leave… which left them needing a destination. Maul skimmed a smuggler site, and suggested a Mid-Rim destination… Bezim, or Vicondor… to pick up another cargo… getting out of the Core worlds. Obi-Wan wanted to stay closer in where traffic was heavier, but finally agreed to Vicondor. They blasted off. Maul said he wanted to talk in hyperspace though, and laid in a circuitous hyperspace route. They’d have some time.

Obi-Wan was uneasy. This trip was already taking longer than he’d hoped. He cut to the chase immediately, taking a seat in the galley area while Maul washed the paint from his face, “So, that was one clone. But there were more, correct?”

“Many more,” Maul ground out.

“Do you think he scattered them across the galaxy?”

Maul tipped his head back and groaned. “No. I don’t think so. I hope not.”

“Fine. Do you have any other inkling of where they might be.”

Maul’s eyes flicked to his. “Yes. They’re on Mustafar,” he said. 

“No.” Obi-Wan said it before he thought anything… before the memories could catch him and ruin him.

No. No. And ever more no.

He would not go back there.

It had been bad enough traveling to Coruscant. Coruscant was large. It contained multitudes. There were so many people. Easy to hide their presence. He had not needed to go near the old Jedi temple. Or anywhere else familiar. And still the memories. 

He would get off the ship at Vicondor. He would find passage back to Tatooine. 

A small voice inside him reminded him that Maul could not kill one clone, much less hundreds. 

If he did not go, he would doom Maul to failure.

No. It did not matter.

Maul protested, frowning, confused, “I am following the same instincts that brought me to you. It is the only place that makes sense. He has facilities there. It is where I, essentially, grew up.”

But Obi-Wan cut him off, “You misunderstand me. It doesn’t matter whether they are there or not. It is a place I will not go.”

“Why not?” Maul asked. “It is not a place I wish to revisit either, but…”

Obi-Wan got up. He didn’t need to explain himself to Maul. “Let me know when we reach Vicondor,” he said, heading to his cabin. “We will part ways there.”

“Kenobi,” Maul called after him.

“Leave me be, Maul.”

He could smell the burning flesh in his nostrils. He needed to get out of the room, get anywhere before his stomach heaved, before he became insensible. Unless… unless he could simply not remember.

  


Maul launched out of his seat. Something was off here. It was too abrupt. What was Obi-Wan avoiding? Had he been to Mustafar before?

“Obi-Wan,” he called out to him. “Stop. We can talk about this.”

Then, the Jedi did stop. Unexpectedly, he rounded on Maul. He strode back to the table and Maul found himself pushed against the wall. “Do it,” Obi-Wan said to him, gripping handfuls of his shirt. 

“What?”

“Make me not think.”

Maul raised his eyebrow slowly, cautiously, stilling temporarily his body’s reaction to Obi-Wan’s suggestion. He knew what Kenobi was asking for. And carefully not asking for. The man’s blue eyes were filled with pain. It was a pain Maul knew, and understood. It was the pain of not being able to escape one’s past, one’s actions. It was the pain of not knowing who one was anymore. Being lost. Maul had felt that pain. 

And yes, sex was a method for dulling it. In the short-term.

Maul had initiated it before, on their way to Coruscant. His thought process on that had been sketchy and hasty. He’d tried to convince himself it was simple expediency… nothing more.

He didn’t exactly regret it. Now. Nor was he convinced it was a good idea, honestly.

It bothered him that he couldn’t place exactly when his hatred of Obi-Wan had crossed into gratitude toward him, and from there to a mild admiration and then into full borne attraction. Rather, he knew the first had taken place on Selebaraan, but he wasn’t sure about the last thing. Of all the people in the universe, Obi-Wan came the closest to understanding him, but when had that shifted into physical want? Was it all the years of following the traces of him? The barest of threads, thinking about him, remembering him as he had been, in those days they’d had together, as he’d comforted him, touched him as a friend might, with care, with feeling?

Act. Do something.

Doubt was already fracturing Obi-Wan’s shaky resolve, Maul could see it in his eyes, feel it in the loosening of his grip.

He leaned forward and kissed the other man, reaching out, gathering him in, feeling Obi-Wan sag, almost imperceptibly, with relief. Maul had learned so much in the many years between his encounter with Sivrelle and now. His years with Kasia had been fulfilling. She’d schooled him desire. In the physical act of pleasure. In the years since her death, he’d tried other things. Men. Groups. But there was nothing… _nothing_ like being with someone Force sensitive. It was easier to see their desire. What they wanted, how one could make things better for them. There had only been Sivrelle, and one brief encounter after Kasia… one nameless man in a nameless place. A surprise. It wasn’t safe to be a Force-user in this galaxy anymore. It was a hidden thing.

Maul concentrated on the feel of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the brush of his clipped beard, trading positions tongue for tongue, meshing lips, slanting his mouth to connect more deeply. He could feel Obi-Wan’s Force signature—silvery blue—pulsing and wavering as the Jedi rolled between desire and fear. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Maul told him. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll help you…”

His own body savored the feeling of having this man in his arms. He was strong. His Force was strong. He was suffering, though. Maul wasn’t doing enough. Smoothly, he turned them so Obi-Wan had his back against the wall, and after a long deep, kiss he sank to his knees in front of the Jedi, opening his trousers. Obi-Wan groaned in pleasure when Maul took him into his mouth. He knew what to do, how to wring the most enjoyment from the act, sucking, licking, tongue sliding around that private silken skin. When had he discovered the joy in giving pleasure? When had those soft grunts and moans of another person’s arousal—the knowledge that he had caused them—begun to feed his own desire? He himself was hard, excited, reveling in the feel of Obi-Wan’s firm legs, the spicy scent of him, the tentative hands resting on Maul’s head, fingers rubbing the base of one horn, then the next. 

Dimly, he heard Obi-Wan’s voice, “No, Maul… Maul… it’s not enough… I want, need…”

He reared back, looking up at the Jedi, whose eyes were wide with panic. He rose up again and took his head in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over cheekbones. “What is it… what do you need?”

Obi-Wan plucked at Maul’s sleeves, holding on his shoulders. “More,” he said then kissed Maul with a weird ferocity. Maul got it. He thought. It wasn’t _Maul_ Obi-Wan was afraid of. Maul started backing up, pulling Obi-Wan with him, meanwhile shrugging out of his own jacket, working Obi-Wan’s off his shoulders. Dropping garments along the way, he drew him down the hallway to his cabin, opened the door and shoved him through.

Obi-Wan didn’t need to be made love to. He needed it hard and rough. Fast… punishing. Obi-Wan pulled his own shirt over his head, revealing a surprisingly well-shaped chest and stomach, covered lightly in hair—so different from Maul’s smooth body. Maul Force-pushed him backward onto the wide bunk, wrestling his boots off of him, finishing the job of his pants. Stripping off his own shirt, shucking his own boots and pants, he asked him, unnecessarily, “Fuck or be fucked, Kenobi…” 

“Be obliterated…” It was rasped out. His clipped tones, which usually made everything he said sound so logical, so refined, were now hoarse, needy… desperate. Laying back, naked on the bed, Obi-Wan waited until Maul knelt over him, then his hands reached, pulling him tighter toward him, his mouth seeking Maul’s and latching on. Maul allowed Obi-Wan’s urgency to rush over him—into him—allowed his Force signature to bleed into his own, ramping up his own arousal as he felt Obi-Wan’s strong need. He pushed the Jedi’s hands off of him, wrenched them back over his head, holding both by the wrist with one hand, while his other roved over the pale skin beneath him, the hard planes of his body.

This wasn’t the way he would have chosen, he realized with pang, an ache almost. Once, maybe, he would have tried to dominate, control… but now… his want of Obi-Wan lay along a different path. He drew a vial of lubricant toward him with the Force, preparing himself, preparing Obi-Wan. The Jedi’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut as Maul eased his way inside him. “Shh, you’ve done this before, you want this… _you want me_ ,” Maul soothed… a statement, not a question, and also with no doubts. He’d followed Obi-Wan for some time before revealing himself. At least two of the man’s infrequent trips for supplies. He’d seen the people he’d taken to his bed. There had been women. There had been men. Men who’d coupled with Obi-Wan roughly, in haste, in the dark corners of Mos Eisley. People passing through. But Maul knew he could make it good for him. He wished he could tell him, _I’ll give you what you want. I’ll do it like you need it, but I’ll make it feel…_ He cut the words off in his own mind. Obi-Wan didn’t want that, couldn’t want words from Maul. No, he wanted the violence. Maul was fully inside the other man now, fully seated within him. He felt the Jedi relaxing by degrees as Maul stimulated his cock, stroking it, and when Maul let go of his wrists to run his left hand along Obi-Wan’s body, he lay still in the grip of the sensations pouring over them. He took from Maul, took whatever Maul was giving him, accepting, giving over to it in the way he needed to. Maul closed his eyes and saw their mingled Force energy, the Jedi’s silvery blue mixed with his own silver shot with firework red. A residue, a taint he could never fully shed.

Maul thrust into him, harder, faster as he could feel the Jedi wanted, holding down his bucking hips, keeping pace with the other man’s rampant desire. Watching with fascination as their bodies came together. A union that should never have been possible. They were both close, both making those unconscious noises that made Maul wild with increasing need, when he slowed for a moment, wrestling control over himself… putting a hand to Obi-Wan’s face, gentle. “Open your eyes, Obi-Wan,” he found himself demanding, softly. Then, when the blue eyes didn’t crack, harsher, “Look at me. _Look at me._ ”

It was only when Obi-Wan’s eyes, hazed with the agony of desire, locked with his that Maul moved again, allowed the wave to crest, felt his body jerk in climax within the other man, the last hard thrusts sending the Jedi over the edge, the wet rush of his issue bursting between them on to the bare skin of their stomachs. Their eyes still met, emotion flickering through, until Obi-Wan finally found the use of his hands again, bringing them down to pull Maul’s mouth to his once more. And when Maul finally pulled away, eased back and off, he saw—as he knew would be the case—Obi-Wan was as lost as ever. 

He cleaned himself and gave Obi-Wan a towel also, then pulled on a pair of soft sleep pants and threw a set to Obi-Wan. He said, not looking at him, “It works, for a bit… but then it all comes back after, with extra shame for even having tried to escape.”

Maul sat on the edge of the bunk where Obi-Wan still lay, both of them half-dressed. He felt soft, gentle fingers on his back, tracing his spine. “I’d forgotten,” came the voice, in control again. “How much _better_ it is… when you are both one with the Force.”

The fingers coaxed him and reluctantly, he lay back on the bed, stretching out side by side with the Jedi, shoulder to hip.

Obi-Wan spoke again. “You’re right, of course… it does come back. But it’s… not as fierce. There’s distance, for a time, at least, a stabbing wound made into a dull ache. For a time.”

“An ache that never leaves.” It never left, but sometimes… sometimes it could lie fallow, untouched, like a tripwire lurking underneath the surface, ready to go off when you least expected it. But sometimes, yes, sometimes the other emotions could reign, even with the danger still there.

He felt Obi-Wan turn his head toward him. “I know, also… you didn’t want to do it that way. I could feel, you would have rather…” He stopped and Maul glanced over, seeing consternation and confusion on Obi-Wan’s face, passing into a strange, wondering, distant look, almost a smile. He looked back at Maul, but all he finally said, at last, was, “Thank you.”

  


Obi-Wan woke from fitful sleep as he felt the sub-light engines kick in. Maul was gone from the bed they’d shared—smooth skin grazing his in the dark, firm arms holding him in the night. Moaning, Obi-Wan closed his eyes again. His belly was slightly queasy from rich foods and drink and, yes, partially from the knowledge he’d behaved rashly, but he lay on his back for a moment, carefully dissecting the state of things. Maul wanted to go to Mustafar. Obi-Wan did not want to go to Mustafar. He’d allowed Maul—no, forced him—to have… _intercourse_ with him in an ill-considered effort not to think about why he did not want to go to Mustafar.

But Maul was right… the ache, the memories… they were always there so how could it hurt any more to return to the scene of the crime, as it were?

And in the end, he’d call himself a coward a thousand times over if he didn’t actually go.

He realized he’d no longer be able to consider himself an honorable person if he didn’t help Maul in this last effort.

And lastly, he probably ought not think about how it had felt to be with him until this was all over.

Ah, he was becoming an expert at not thinking about things.

He roused himself, showered in the fresher, dressed in a clean set of clothes, gathering up their discarded items from the night before and tossing them in the shipboard laundry. He tidied his things and finally summoned his courage and went forward to the cockpit, pouring himself a cup of Maul’s ever-present tea on the way up.

As the cockpit door opened and Obi-Wan stepped through, Maul gave him an unreadable look from the pilot’s chair. “You’re up. Good,” was all he said, before turning his attention to the controls in front of him.

“Did you get any rest?” Obi-Wan asked, settling into the co-pilot’s seat.

Again, the unreadable flick of Maul’s green eyes to his. “A bit.”

Vicondor grew in the viewscreen in front of them, swirled white with clouds.

“We should be there shortly. If you’ll merely help me with the cargo, we’ll find you passage back to Tatooine,” Maul said, not looking up this time.

Obi-Wan reached out to put a hand on his arm, then drew back. He remembered the smooth hairlessness of Maul’s body in a flash of heat. “I’m going with you to Mustafar. I made a promise to you and I will keep it, Maul.” Through the Force he felt a surge of relief from the other man, quickly hidden. He cracked a joke, “Although as vacation destinations go, it leaves much to be desired.”

Maul actually smiled, actually looked hopeful as they landed the ship. The spaceport on Vicondor was dirty, ugly… a perfect place to pass through and not stay, but the misty dampness of the air did something to Obi-Wan’s heart. He’d lived in dust and sand for so long, in cities and on starships. Sometimes it felt like the outside of him was nothing but a brittle shell. One not well suited for containing the emotion inside. He and Maul took care of their business and then stood, shoulder to shoulder for a minute, just outside the ship as if neither of them wanted to take the next step. Maul put a tentative hand on his shoulder, just brushing the exposed skin of his neck.

Obi-Wan spoke up, “Maul, about what happened…” He really didn’t know what he wanted to say, didn’t even know what he _wanted_. He only knew he had to get through Mustafar before figuring it out.

The hand was quickly withdrawn. “It doesn’t have to be talked about. You had a need. I recognized that.”

Maul made it sound cold. Transactional.

“I’m a mess,” Obi-Wan began, trying to offer something. “As I’m sure you’ve surmised. I don’t know what will happen on Mustafar…”

Maul turned toward him. “What _did_ happen on Mustafar?”

“Not here. I can’t tell you here. I’ll try to tell you there,” he answered him, backing up and turning to go into the ship. “I’ll try.”

He knew Maul was probably right. He should tell him. If he shared it… perhaps it would make the burden easier to bear. He’d never told anyone all of it. To Yoda, and Bail… he’d explained the duel. The battle. Anakin’s demeanor. But not how he’d left him. Not why. Not all the underlying stuff. The concern had all been for Padmé, and then how to hide the children. How to carry on in the face of utter disaster. And to mourn. All their lost ones. At the time, they’d thought Anakin was dead, too. Either way, they’d lost him. But perhaps death would have hurt less.

Maul, apparently, had no problem with silence. He supposed that they were similar that way. They’d lived lives of dedication and solitude… at least for the past few years anyway. The night before… dinner… that had been something special… something lost. The simple things he hadn’t realized he’d missed… laughing with friends. He had not allowed himself to make friends on Tatooine. There was little purpose to that, and much danger. He had to stay hidden… and yet, there was Maul, beside him, unearthing him, bringing life back to him.

“I am concerned,” said Maul, once they were safely in hyperspace and on their way.

“I will be up to the task when the time comes, I promise you, Maul,” Obi-Wan insisted, staring at the shifting swirls outside. It could be mesmerizing.

Maul sat back in his seat, rocking it backward. “No, not about you. I realized, as we stood looking at that clone on Coruscant… what if they have minds of their own? What if… when we woke them… they could walk and talk and would have memories that aren’t _from_ me… is what I am doing… is it mass murder? Should I perhaps wake them all and set them free? Would that not be more… fair?”

Hmm… they were on uncharted ground here. Clones were mysterious, unless you were from Kamino. He stroked his beard, then finally spoke, “Well, we do not know, right? The clones I knew… they were individuals. Rex, Cody… they had names, unique personalities, unique strengths and weaknesses, their own souls, if you will. I counted many of them as friends. When they…” When they had turned on him, it had hurt. He’d thought it incredibly painful, confusing, unexpected… yet the hurt of that had been swamped many times over by Anakin’s fall to the dark side. He cleared his throat. “When they turned on me… it was shocking. I would not have thought they could be manipulated that way. They were their own people. But… they were raised to be soldiers from birth. Cared for, nurtured in a way. Who knows what happened with these clones?”

“I know not. I don’t know how he might have done it. I have had my own experiences. I have memories. Are they false? Did he raise us all the same way? Were there others of me, growing up in rooms nearby, when I thought myself completely alone? What was I before I was here in this body? What was this body before I came to be in it?” 

Obi-Wan chuckled, “Questions we all ask. I have meditated on this many times. I have spoken to Qui-Gon about it… now that he is… of another plane.”

Maul closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Qui-Gon? You’ve spoken to…? I don’t even think I want to know what that means. I am serious though… What are the clones? Were we grown? But how… then, do we have skills, muscles… and how was my experience transferred at my death… _to_ this vessel?”

“Palpatine must be far more powerful in the Force than we even know, if he can reach in and pluck your soul from the ether to transfer it. But, perhaps you are right… perhaps they could live on their own… and waking them would thwart his plans as well as destruction. How would you feel, though, about a hundred _you’s_ wandering about the galaxy? Your own army of yourself. Would you take them with you, like a litter of kittens? Or would you shove them out of the nest to let them fly or fall on their own?”

A glare then, in response to this. “So philosophical, Kenobi.”

“You started it,” Obi-Wan said. “And do you find it interesting that you call me Kenobi when you get passionate.”

“I believe I called you something else in the heat of passion, Jedi,” Maul tossed back at him. 

_Open your eyes, Obi-Wan. Look at me._

The same green eyes that stared him down now, boring into his above him as he… forcing him to see who it was that was… Obi-Wan felt himself flush. Blast it… “When you get angry then, Sith Lord.”

“I’m not a Sith.” Maul was jittery, pacing back and forth in the small room. Without another word he stalked out of the cockpit and back toward the galley. Obi-Wan followed. 

“So, you think we should wake one, when we get there?” he said. 

Maul groaned, opening cabinets and drawers idly. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” 

Obi-Wan watched him, leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. His agitation kept growing, he could feel it in the Force. He swore inwardly, the last time this happened, oh so many years ago, Maul had nearly shaken apart the house. “Maul, calm yourself.”

Maul fairly snarled at him. “I do not want to make these choices. All I want… is to be left in peace. To die in peace… yet… no, he still haunts me. It would have been better to have never known…” He looked up at Obi-Wan, held his hands out helplessly, made a gesturing motion between them. “This. You.”

Standing up straight, Obi-Wan stared at Maul, whose chest was now heaving with emotion. “If I have made you unhappy, Maul… you may add it to my long list of failures.”

Maul closed his eyes, threaded a hand through his horns. “It is not unhappiness exactly… it is…” Something inside Obi-Wan ached, not the usual pain, something fresh. He went to Maul and grasped the other man’s neck. Maul shook. “It is loss. All the things that could have been,” the tattooed man continued. “We might have been brothers, you once said.”

Obi-Wan pressed their foreheads together gently, “And now… ah, now we have been… more than that. How did such a thing happen? What a galaxy we live in. I wish… you had found me sooner. I wish… we could have fought on the same side. I wish… a lot of things that can never be. All we have is now, Maul.”

“I am a recurrent nightmare for you,” Maul said. 

Obi-Wan felt chilled, even touching Maul’s hot skin. “No, no… you are _hope_ ,” he said. 

  


Maul was stunned at Obi-Wan’s response. He froze.

Obi-Wan abruptly let him go and sank into one of the chairs as if his legs could no longer bear his weight.

“After I found out what Anakin had done to the younglings at the Temple, I stowed away with Padmé, with his _wife_ … to Mustafar,” he said, his voice low and desperately sad.

Maul sat opposite him. “Jedi can have wives?” he asked, feeling lost and stupid. Slow to follow Obi-Wan’s train of thought.

Obi-Wan looked up at him briefly. “No. Nor children, though Padmé was pregnant with his. He was mad… he’d gone mad. He kept talking about ruling the galaxy… such terrible things.” He’d closed his eyes tightly, steepling his fingers over his nose as if he could stop the emotions. “His eyes were fiery and golden, like yours used to be. He’d fallen so far. Padmé tried to stop him and he struck her down… he choked her, with the Force.”

Ah, that trick. Such a simple one, yet so effective at demonstrating one’s power—and one’s victim’s powerlessness. How many years had it been since he’d used it? “Did he kill her?” he asked.

The Jedi shook his head. “She lived. But we fought. We dueled with lightsabers, it ranged throughout the facility, I don’t know what happened, things were falling apart, afire, we leapt onto a piece of the shield and drifted down the lava floe. It was horrifying. Anakin was so good, the best, I saw death coming for me time and again. But I knew him. I knew his tendencies. I tried once more to talk him out of it. To remind him… but he was too far gone. He thought I had turned Padmé against him… thought the Jedi were evil…”

“Well, so you are… when one is a Sith,” said Maul needlessly. 

Obi-Wan went on grimly, as if he hadn’t spoken, “He was all twisted up inside. I hadn’t seen it. I hadn’t seen how the fear had warped him. How his love for Padmé had turned to something wrong. How it changed into a need for power. I’d missed it all. I’d never acknowledged them. I’d let him down. I should have been someone he could come to, to talk to… but instead, he must have felt alone. If Palpatine set traps, well then he walked right into them… we threw them together.”

“I told you… he manipulated. He twisted things. Your padawan must have felt he had little choice. But don’t forget that he did.” Maul did not like the vacant stare in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Do you blame yourself for his actions? He made the choice. He took the light saber. He killed those children. Not you.”

Obi-Wan turned an anguished face to him. “Should I _not_ blame myself? He was my responsibility. I was his teacher. I was like his father. We were… a team. I should have _known_. I should have taught him better. I should have made time to listen to him, I should have steered him better. Is it not my fault? If not in whole, then at least in part?”

Maul felt pity, but made his face pitiless. “Perhaps,” he said. “Yes. But even so, we are all responsible for many things, with or without our knowledge. None of us is perfect. Or behaves perfectly. You did your best, certainly—I am sure you cannot do otherwise. But you did not teach him to _kill children_ for his own gain. Whatever the reason in his mind, he killed children out of greed. A self-serving, selfish act. You can wallow in your failure, or you can accept that he made his own mistakes.”

He did not know if that sank in or not. Obi-Wan sat silent, head in hands.

“Is there more,” asked Maul mercilessly. Best to get it all out. Rip the bandage all the way off. Open the wound and let the blood flow. Cleanse the wound of putridity.

Without opening his eyes, Obi-Wan spoke again, “When we fought on Mustafar. It went on and on. Finally… finally… I found myself on high ground. I knew what he was going to do. I told him not to.”

“He did not listen.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, he did the move I thought he would. A flipping, soaring attack. I raised my light saber… he had already lost one arm to Dooku and wore a cybernetic hand. I sliced through all of his other limbs. All of them in one slash. He fell…”

Maul felt himself wince. Try as he might to forget, he still remembered Obi-Wan’s slash through his stomach. The feeling of his flesh separating. The knowledge that he was dead, before he died. How much more terrible must have it had been for those two. Brothers in truth. How hard for Obi-Wan to be betrayed by his student. Expected, even admirable in a Sith… but it was not the Jedi way.

Obi-Wan uncovered his face, a look of disgust marring his features, though Maul did not know if it was for Anakin, or for himself. “He lay there, clawing at the ash with his metal hand, the only one left to him. He moaned in pain… his rage visible in his eyes, those terrible eyes. Not Anakin’s eyes, no… now they belonged to Vader… I was… angry, ruined. How could I have done it?”

It was simple to Maul. Still so simple after all these years. After so much change. “He was trying to kill you.”

“I drew first. One could say he thought I was trying to kill him.”

Maul made a slashing motion with his hand. No. Jedi fought in defense. If Anakin had fallen, Obi-Wan was trying to stop him, but not kill him.

“I could have helped him, but all I did was yell at him. I said things. Damning, horrible things. He screamed his hatred at me, his rage at me. And then it was if it all slipped away from me, all the anger. All I knew was that I had failed him. I had done something terribly wrong. I had let down the boy who meant the most to me. I told him… I told him I loved him, and then… he _caught fire_.”

Maul tried to conceal his second wince. He’d never known exactly why Vader wore armor. There were rumors he was scarred, burned… but… to hear it like this. Obi-Wan launched out of his seat then, lurched to the basin and vomited, heaving up anything in his stomach, retching until there was nothing left. 

It was hard for Maul to know what to say. He waited until he heard Obi-Wan rinse the basin, until he came back, dropping heavily into his seat as if it had taken all of his will. Maul got him a glass of water to drink and this time stayed standing, leaning against the counter. “I was horrified. Horrified. But I did nothing. I watched him burn. I watched him, and I walked away. I walked away and left him there, screaming in mortal agony. I did not think he would live. But I…”

Now it made sense. The guilt. No wonder Obi-Wan looked for escape… drink, sex… anything. Maul had done many terrible things, but consciously… willingly. This… it was bad, in its own way. Not evil. Traumatic. It was no wonder Obi-Wan was a little mad… living on his own all this time, reliving these memories. 

Obi-Wan continued, “Yes… heroic Jedi that I am, _I walked away_. I walked away. I could have given him a clean death with a single stroke of my light saber. I could have gone to him and helped him. But all I did was watch. And then I left him. I abandoned him to his fate. Palpatine must have found him. Turned him into that _thing_ that marauds the galaxy, bringing more evil, more terror, more pain. _I made him Vader._ I am every bit as responsible as the Emperor is.” The look on his face was now terrible… fierce and certain, without hope at all.

“Why did you leave him? Why not make sure?” he asked, knowing the answer, but wanting Obi-Wan to admit it.

He shook his head, eyes distant, far away on that lava floe. “I could not kill him like that. I couldn’t walk up to a defenseless man, my brother, and kill him. I could have killed him while we battled. But I didn’t. Why did I slash at him, dismembering him? Why not behead him? Why not stab him through the heart? I’m sure… quite sure… I had all those options. I replay the moment in my head and see what I could have done differently. I chose the most terrible and awful of all of them. And then, I could neither give mercy, nor take vengeance. I was a coward.”

“Did you think me a coward for not wanting to kill my clone?” Maul asked him.

“No.”

“Yet you judge yourself for not wanting to kill your own padawan? A boy you’d raised for what… ten years? Fifteen years? How long was it? You were practically a boy yourself when they entrusted him to you. You judge yourself for not wanting to see if there was a chance he could… or would… give you some kind of explanation that would make sense as to why he had done what he had done. Some moment of repentance, after his unspeakable acts of violence. He tried to kill you, Obi-Wan. And what’s more, he hurt you.”

“That should not make a difference,” said Obi-Wan. “I should have done what was right.”

“And what would that have been?”

When he said it finally, it was so anguished, so pained, it hurt Maul’s ears to hear it, “I _don’t know_. I have thought and thought. I have meditated. The Force has never shown me an answer I can believe in.”

Maul didn’t move an inch. “Exactly. You don’t know. You didn’t know. No one can make every right decision. No one can know ahead of time what the result would be of one choice, or the other. Not even Jedi. You only make the best choice you can, at the moment. Sometimes… it’s wrong. And the results are bad. But you can’t go back. You can only do better the next time. And sometimes—and this is the hardest—sometimes there is no right choice at all.”

There was silence. And then it was as if something in Obi-Wan broke… collapsed. He hunched over in his chair, elbows to knees, fingertips pressing into his skull, holding it in, holding it together. Maul stepped closer, knelt beside him, and reached out helplessly, unsure, but then he did what Kasia would have done with a small child from the village… he wrapped Obi-Wan in his arms and held him. 

Eventually Obi-Wan turned his still tight face to Maul’s, searching his eyes. Maul pulled away. “No,” he said calmly. “I let you use me once to forget. No more.” He stood up and went to brew tea, an activity that focused and soothed him. “Go to your cabin and rest. Think about what I said. Really think. Quiet your mind and listen to the will of the Force.” That old joke between them. “We’ll be to Mustafar sooner than either of us wishes. After—if there is an after—then…” he trailed off, not knowing what he even meant to say.

Long after Obi-Wan had left the room, Maul realized that though he had explained a great deal, Obi-Wan had still not explained what he had meant when he’d called Maul “hope.”

  


  


When they stood on a hidden landing platform, hours later, Obi-Wan let the familiar hot wind blow at him. The stench of sulphur, the lack of moisture in the air… it was hot and dry, but not like the desert. As different from Tatooine as the cities of Corellia were from Coruscant. 

He was thankful he’d told the story already. Telling it to Maul had somehow, made it easier to stand there, smelling those smells, feeling that hot air. As though telling the tale had erected a shield between him and the trauma of those moments. Maul also stood and stared, eyes unseeing, tense with emotion. He’d said that he grew up there. What a home… barren, volatile… 

As if he read his mind, Maul smiled at Obi-Wan… a grim, tight, humorless rictus. “So like me, yes?”

“Not anymore, Maul,” Obi-Wan said. He was still astounded at the wisdom Maul had shown him, the sensitivity. The simple body to body contact that had prevented him from losing his mind in those memories. And something had… yes… something had released ever so slightly. That chokehold he’d lived under for ten years had slackened with the telling. With the matter of fact way Maul had listened, had acknowledged his failures, yet had also taken some of the burden of blame away from him. 

Now they were here though… and it felt like a shadow trailing behind him. The fountains of lava, the clash of their sabers, the sounds of the equipment failing. It felt as though it had just happened, though it was a decade ago. He had to put it aside… could not let it overwhelm him. It was Maul’s turn. They were here for him, and Obi-Wan would be damned if he let someone else down. 

Squaring his shoulders, Maul led them around a rocky corner to a cleverly hidden door. He closed his eyes and used the Force to open it. A hallway with doors on one side stretched in front of them, lit at intervals by diffuse lights on the opposite wall. “Home sweet home,” Maul said, leading them inward. “I had a small chamber. Between his visits, a droid trained and tested me. It was a focused existence.”

“Bleak,” said Obi-Wan.

“Was your childhood more nurturing?”

“Somewhat. Though there was training. Lots of training. At least there were many of us. I had friends. And then I had Qui-Gon.”

Moving again, by feel, they wandered through the facility. Maul bringing them ever closer to the odd and elusive slumbering Force signature. Or signatures, as the case my be this time. It felt like one massive Maul they were walking toward, moving lower into the place. 

“Do you ever wish you knew how he did it?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Maul rub his shoulder and wince in pain. “You could have a brand new body.”

Maul shook his head emphatically. “I earned every pain I have, every scar in this body. I do not relish beginning another life. I am ready… I think… for this one to be over.”

They entered an open space. A large chamber at the juncture of several hallways. Windows on one side showed the everpresent lava oozing by. 

Then Maul stopped short, his light saber in his hand ignited, glowing red in dim light. 

Obi-Wan followed suit. 

And that’s when he struck. 

It was like something out of a nightmare. Back to back with Maul with the glow of lava lighting the scene, an enemy bore down on them flashing his own red saber. The enemy wore the same face as his ally. Maul himself, black and red, dressed in the black uniform of the Sith bore down on them, spinning into action, light staff slashing at both of them with barely enough time to parry. 

And there it was, the crash of two, no, three lightsabers in opposite momentum. His heart jumped and his body reacted naturally, flowing smoothly into motions, the muscle memory of the movements not lost after all these years. He and Maul fought with surprising harmony, as if they’d been a team their whole lives, uniting against this common threat. This new Maul, the nightmare Maul from the past, fought with the spinning dynamism of the old Maul, years ago, flipping, kicking, using the Force in surprising ways to ward off his two enemies, much as he and Qui-Gon had fought Maul years ago. Only this time, Maul was also on his side, and knew himself. It did not take him long… Obi-Wan sensed it when he began to lure the new Maul into his trap, and followed suit.

All too quickly, they had the clone in check. When he realized it, he snarled in anger, frustration.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” Obi-Wan said, saber humming across the clone’s throat. 

“You’ve already killed me once,” the clone hissed. 

“Then tell me why _he_ shouldn’t kill you,” he intoned, jerking his head toward Maul, whose saber crossed the clone’s stomach. 

The two looked at each other… the changes in Maul more apparent standing next to this… almost ghost. This weird living memory. “I don’t want to kill you. I want to set you free,” said Maul. “Do you want to die?”

The clone shook his head, his weapon dropped to the ground. Maul and Obi-Wan stepped back in lockstep, still holding their sabers aloft. Maul called his twin’s saber to his hand with the Force. 

“Now, you will tell us about the rest of you,” Obi-Wan said. “Though, if we could trust you, I’m sure there are more comfortable places, even on Mustafar, for this discussion.”

Laughing harshly, the clone said, “Oh, I wouldn’t say you could trust me, but I won’t try to kill you. You’re the first beings I’ve seen in years. He doesn’t come anymore. He left me to guard the rest of us, promising he would return, that he would give me opportunities. I should have left long ago, but…”

“You need not explain,” Maul said. “He breeds loyalty strong.”

The clone dropped his eyes to the ground, still holding the athletic, disciplined “ready” stance, a dangerous predator. How odd it must be for Maul to see him like this, dressed as he used to, eyes glowing yellow as his used to, a mirror-image of the past, walking and talking in front of him. 

At Maul’s signal, they took the clone to a larger room, with three, long, deep-set windows, aglow from the lava outside. A long table with benches took up the center of the room, a formal dining room of sorts. Without needing to communicate with each other, Maul and Obi-Wan fell into roles. Maul stood, threatening… arms crossed over what was still a powerful physique, while Obi-Wan sat opposite the clone… the calm, unruffled negotiator. 

“What did he call you?” Obi-Wan asked sympathetically. 

“Darth Maul,” said the clone without hesitation. Maul did not even flinch. 

It was so strange… strange to listen to this newer Maul. He sounded, of course, identical. 

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he introduced himself. “And my companion is…”

“Varas,” said Maul simply. Obi-Wan felt a strange lurch somewhere inside him, a surge of some sort of odd pride.

The clones eyes flicked sullenly to his counterpart. “What are you going to do to me?”

Maul/Varas spoke, “If you want a chance at another life, answer the questions and we can help you get off this rock.”

The clone nodded. Obi-Wan assumed he’d had plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to question why his loyalty should lie with a man who’d all but abandoned him. Plenty of time to crave other adventures. 

Obi-Wan began, “What is the last thing you recall before being awoken here?”

The clone’s eyes bored into his, “You… slashing me in half.”

Okay. That was the last memory his Maul might have had before waking up. Did that mean somehow whatever was in this clone was the same thing that his Maul—Varas—had started with?

“How many of you are there left?”

“There 119 of us in the chambers. One I sent to Coruscant shortly after I was awoken.”

Obi-Wan glanced to Maul. “Me, the one prior to me, the one on Coruscant—whom we’ve already destroyed, for your information—this one. A strange number to start with… 123.”

The clone dropped his head. “There were two more.”

Leaning closer, Obi-Wan prodded him, “What’s that?”

“There were two more. I was bored. I was alone here. There was no one to test me, to talk to. I woke one of the clones, wanting to see what would happen.”

“And what did happen,” Maul asked. 

“It was an inert thing… alive, but lifeless. It was if there was nothing to animate it. I thought perhaps I had done something wrong waking it, so I tried a second one. It became apparent that something had been done… some spark had been added to make me, me… but I could never figure out what it was or how he’d done it.”

That answered that question. He exchanged a look with Maul… Varas.

Obi-Wan immediately began calculating how they could destroy the facility.

  


  


Maul sat down next to his clone, at the same time, Obi-Wan rose, walked away. Maul licked his lips… thinking, calculating. This exhausted him. He had not expected to battle himself. His chest ached, and he wished for some of the salve he carried everywhere. He rubbed at his shoulder. “If you were able to leave this planet, what would your purpose be?”

The clone looked at him steadily. “I don’t know. If I am not this, what am I? What are you?”

This sounded familiar. Had he not asked it of Obi-Wan all those years ago. Did he not still ask it? 

He gave the clone the only answer he could, “I am myself. I belong to myself. I have lived… I have released myself from his prison, from the dark side.”

The clone shook his head. 

“You can do the same for yourself. We could take you away from here. You can hide yourself in the galaxy, become whomever you want. You don’t have to be Sith because that’s what you were made. You can choose.”

It was an iffy moment. When he’d gone to Selabaraan, he’d had such strong convictions. He remembered how fierce his feelings had been. How much he’d wanted to believe that everything he’d been taught was _right_. That it was true. That all he’d done had been for the sake of the right cause. This Maul was starting from there, but with years of solitude. What had those years wrought in him? 

“I have been here, alone… I dwelled upon the vengeance I would wreak on you… Kenobi.” The clone flashed yellow eyes at the Jedi. “But… I have had doubts also. Why have I been left to languish here? I would sift through those memories, given to me… and think about the wonders of the galaxy I was not seeing… if I was able to leave here, I would go… see them. But what of… ah, to be a Sith. It has its own glories.”

“I cannot let you go free if you still intend to kill Kenobi,” Maul said.

“Why do you defend him? Did he not kill you, too?” It was a valid point. Maul did not answer it though. Then the clone snorted in derision. “If I have the galaxy to explore, what need have I of vengeance?”

An impression came from Obi-Wan through the Force: _Are you sure this is wise? Do you remember what you were like? How much damage might he cause?_

The sense Maul returned conveyed this: _What choice do we have? We cannot slay him for his_ potential _to violence._

It was as if he _felt_ Obi-Wan laugh. _Maul the Wise._

“Obviously, we cannot control what you do when you leave this planet, but I think I speak for both of us when I say that I hope you will put aside the more violent of your teachings, and learn from what you experience,” Obi-Wan said to the clone. 

“And if you reject your master, reject the Sith way… even in part. You might consider choosing another name,” Maul said. “You’ll find the title Darth in this galaxy might not bring you the most gracious of welcomes.”

The clone considered. “I have had a lot of time to think. Yet, I think _you_ know…” He looked pointedly at Maul. “There is a joy in the violence. It is… all I have known until these last quiet years.”

Maul put out a hand to him. “There are many other joys, many new ones you will find… but the violence will push them away.”

The clone grasped Maul’s hand. “Then I shall be Tyûk. For strength.”

For strength. It was what Obi-Wan had said when he had named him Varas. He did not know if he deserved it. Or if this clone deserved it. 

Maul smiled. “So… how do we go about destroying this place? All those empty shells… I think two of us is more than enough in this galaxy.”

Tyûk grinned as well. “I have thought about it. Truthfully, nothing should exist on this world. Everything that has been built here exists because of the shields that protect it from the natural environment. So… simply override the shields and the lava will overcome it… erase its very existence.”

“We must make certain though,” said Maul with a glance in Obi-Wan’s direction. 

“Yes, there are fail-safes… backups… we must make sure that those do not trip, otherwise our work will be undone.”

Obi-Wan nodded his approval. “Tyûk, go and gather whatever personal belongings you wish to take with you from this place. Or anything else you deem useful, and meet us back here. Then we will set to getting this place to destroy itself. 

When the clone left, Obi-Wan gave Maul a serious look. 

“What is it, Jedi? I see your mind working from over here,” Maul said. Obi-Wan was perched on the edge of the table, arms folded over his chest. Maul put his elbows on the table in front of him and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He wished for a cup of tea. He felt… entirely worn out. There was a relief to the thought that the clones would be destroyed. A strange frisson of delighted energy at the idea of unleashing Tyûk on the galaxy. He did love chaos.

“You think it’s safe to set him free?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Maul shrugged, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. “I see no other choice. You as much as did the same for me, from Selebaraan. You could have killed me. I wanted you to.” Those moments. He’d been in such despair. Such doubt. He’d wanted so badly not to think anymore. Not to _be_ anymore. Obi-Wan hadn’t let him die. Had not given the easy way out. He’d sent him back to his Master to find the truth for himself. And so he had. 

Now… he was tired. For the past ten years, all he’d wanted was a simple life. But he should have known it could not be possible. 

“And so you turned out well, didn’t you?” Obi-Wan said.

Maul laughed weakly. “I am not sure I would say ‘well’ exactly. I am not sure if I did anything, truly to make up for the evil I caused.”

“Surely setting Tyûk free would be something.”

“Selfish.” It was true. This act was merely to grant himself an easier death.

“You have given me a measure of peace.”

Maul looked up at Obi-Wan’s face. He was kidding. He had to be. But the Jedi’s face was serene. “That’s ridiculous. If you think me fucking you was peaceful I must have done it all wrong.”

Obi-Wan laughed out loud. “It was hardly that, rest assured. But, you did… talk me through something. You released me, in a way. Plus… there’s you.”

“What do you mean?” It felt, in a way, like he was talking to Obi-Wan through a long tunnel. So tired. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what he had to say. Wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be easier to just… stop. Right there. He could just… well, it could end. It could all end there. Perhaps it should.

Obi-Wan sat down next to him on the bench, facing outward from the table, the opposite way of Maul. “I made Vader. At least to some extent. My pride. My lack of attention. Something in what I did contributed to _why_ Anakin fell to the dark side. As you said, I am not entirely to blame, perhaps, but it is true. This is the burden I carry… will carry… for all of my days. And yet…” He paused there and Maul was forced to drag his attention back to Obi-Wan. It took a great deal of effort. “And yet, there’s also you. You are here. You use the light side of the Force. You came back from that dark place. Is it wrong for me also to take some share of that? Is it wrong also for me to _hope_ that someday… someday Anakin could come back, as well?”

“Jedi,” swore Maul softly. “Always so fucking optimistic.”

“It is our fatal flaw,” Obi-Wan said, with a laugh.

Maul looked over at him and laughed, too. It was strange, this easy camaraderie. They were enemies. Should have always been enemies, but somehow… ah, well. It didn’t really matter so much now, so close to the end. Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder. Maul glanced over and saw his own weariness mirrored on the Jedi’s face. They were both old now. Tired. Alone. Full of regret. And somehow… they understood each other.

Tyûk entered the room… a pack that was smaller than it should be to hold a lifetime of memory on his back. “I’m ready,” the clone said.

“Very well then,” Maul said with a grunt as he stood up. By the Force, his body ached. “Let’s get to this.”

  


Obi-Wan shouldered the clone’s pack and carried it to the ship while the two Mauls worked out the schematics of the base. He felt the stirrings of something as he hurried back down to see what they had come up with… the _something_ reminded him of excitement. The thrill before a battle. But also, the thrill before a new mission. The knowledge that some good would be done. And lastly, the simple thrill of anticipation. The joy inherent in knowing one was about to start something new, experience something new… the thrill of looking forward to what the next day was bring. It was a feeling he’d not had in… oh, a very long time. 

The three of them spent the next hour disabling these safeguards… then went to the control room to cut the power to the shields. The internal temperature started rising immediately. Alerts sounded across the boards. 

“Yes, see here,” said Tyûk. “The lava is backing up into the exhaust system. It should flood the cryo room as soon as it breaks through the vents… here.”

They were on the ship, almost ready to go when Maul got a strange look on his face and said, “I have to see it. I’m going to look. Stay with the ship and I’ll be right back.” 

He was off before Obi-Wan could fully register what he said. Exchanging a look with Tyûk, Obi-Wan wavered. Could he trust the clone if he went after Maul? He had a bad feeling about this. 

“Go,” said the clone. “See what he’s up to. I give you my word I will not leave without you.”

He had no choice but to trust him, and took off after Maul. 

The cryo room was huge and dark, but something was rumbling at the far end of it. He found Maul looking out over all the chambers on the floor below, at the top of the metal staircase that led down to them. 

“I had to see it,” Maul said. 

Across the way a piece of the wall cracked and fell away, revealing the orange glow of lava outside.

“You’re seeing it. Now let’s go. _They_ will burn. You cannot.”

“You have to go,” said Maul, gaze directed out. Lava had begun seeping in the other side, gathering force as more and more of the outer wall was eaten away.

“ _We_ have to go,” Obi-Wan insisted. 

“I’ll meet you at the ship. I have to make certain, like you said. I cannot…”

Together they watched the farthest cryo-chamber be swallowed by lava. Maul made no move to leave. 

“Go, Obi-Wan… be safe.” He dragged his eyes away from the spectacle of the clones being melted away to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I want you to be safe, keep your charge safe. I know you believe he is the key to defeating _him_. I hope you are right.” He was talking about his old master. 

A sick feeling swept through Obi-Wan. Maul didn’t intend to leave. “You have to come with me,” he insisted. 

The lava moved inexorably across the room, eating clones as it went, coming ever closer. They needed to move. Yet Maul remained frozen on the metal walkway. Obi-Wan grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him violently toward him. “Blast it, I told you I wasn’t coming on a suicide mission with you. You don’t need to die here.”

“It is probably for the best, Obi-Wan… my friend.” It was said tentatively, as if he even now expected rejection, but also with deep sadness. Maul’s eyes were full of pain. “I have lived longer than I thought I would. I have done so many things, but I can never make up for the evil…”

“No,” shouted Obi-Wan over the gathering rumble of things collapsing, falling apart. A familiar rumble. “You told me… I do not bear all the blame. Neither do you.”

Maul shook his head. The metal under their feet creaked and groaned in the gathering heat. They were running out of time. 

“Maul… _Maul_. Don’t do this,” Obi-Wan found himself pleading. “Don’t…don’t leave me alone.”

Once he said it aloud, he knew it to be true. The short time he’d had with Maul had been a blessing. Companionship he had not sought, nor expected. But so very welcome. It made no sense, or wouldn’t have twenty years prior, but he and Maul were good for each other.

Their eyes met. Something was exchanged. Some promise. But Maul looked back at the gathering destruction.

“Please,” insisted Obi-Wan. “Please come with me.”

And when Maul met his eyes again, he could feel through the Force when he gave in, could feel when he really believed. Obi-Wan held out a hand and Maul took it. Together, without a backward glance, they ran from the room, rushing up the stairs to the landing platform.

At the top, they found the ramp on the ship down… engines running, ready for take-off from the quivering platform. Tyûk was waiting anxiously for them, closing things up, lifting off as everything crumbled beneath them. “For a minute, I thought you weren’t coming,” the clone said.

Tyûk circled around, knowing that all of them needed to see the facility truly fall beneath the lava, watching as the floe swallowed it all. Then he blasted away.

And all of three of them put Mustafar behind them.

They agreed to drop Tyûk at the Ord Segra spaceport. A crossroads of smugglers and gamblers. Maul outfitted him with clothes and credits. It was a strange and difficult parting. Maul stood as if an older brother to his clone. He put a hand on his shoulder as Obi-Wan stood back watching. “You have the power to do great things, Tyûk. Use it wisely.”

Tyûk nodded, then quickly embraced Maul. “If I need you, how will I find you?”

Maul shook his head. “You won’t need us.”

And with a jerk of his chin, the clone disappeared into the crowd.

They refueled and headed away, making their careful way back to Tatooine.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to expect, really. He half expected Maul to dump him off in Mos Eisley, but instead they used an adapted cloaking technology from Maul’s old ship, and snuck in to the planet’s atmosphere, landing the ship near Obi-Wan’s hut and hiding it in the rocky wastes. Inside the hut, Maul dropped to the couch as if exhausted, rubbing his chest. He shrugged out of his jacket, and stripped off his shirt, reaching for a bottle of salve from the pack he’d brought with him from the ship.

“Ah, Obi-Wan,” he sighed. “Even with the clones destroyed, I find I am still afraid of death.”

Obi-Wan took the salve from him and started to apply it to Maul’s shoulder from behind, sensing that was what was giving him the most pain. It was scary, in one way, to feel the power in Maul’s body, and to know that sickness raged within him. “Who isn’t, old friend?” he said as he rubbed in the ointment.

Maul’s eyes gleamed in the low, dusty light, looking back up at him. “Friend?”

“I don’t know what else to call you,” Obi-Wan laughed, starting on the opposite shoulder, drawing a groan of pain from Maul.

“Varas,” said Maul firmly. “Although it seems a trifle late to start anew.”

“Then you must call me Ben,” said Obi-Wan. “Two men without history. Neither Sith nor Jedi.”

“Brothers?” said Maul.

“More than brothers.” He moved his hand to Maul’s neck, thumb idly stroking the skin there.

“I suppose we do have a special connection,” Maul joked. “You’ve killed me more often than anyone else in the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan laughed aloud at this, then quieted. With difficulty, he spoke, “Just… I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay here for awhile.” Saying it made it feel more true, more real. He hadn’t lived with anyone for a long time… he’d been alone, and before that, during the Clone Wars, always on the move. He hadn’t had a home, truly, since Qui-Gon died. And even then it was Qui-Gon that was home, not any place. But, he and Maul now shared… a lot.

Maul looked at him with some trepidation. “What are you saying, Jedi?”

Obi-Wan moved to sit on the low stool in front of Maul, his knees staggered with Maul’s. Putting one elbow to his own leg, he stroked his beard and said, finally, simply, “I would welcome your presence here, I would welcome _you_ here… I would… like having you here.”

Those green eyes met his. “I might not have much time.”

“Does it matter? None of us know how much time we have, after all.”

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan used the Force to look inside Maul, for the first time. He saw the disease spreading, and knew it was probably giving Maul daily pain already—thus the salves and liniments he had been applying—and would soon debilitate the powerful man. It would be shaming for him—showing weakness—and could even spread to his mind. Sivrelle had taught him a bit of the healing art, explained how it was supposed to work. He wondered…

Concentrating, he let his awareness sink into Maul. Felt Maul start in surprise. He looked at the diseased tissue and carefully separated what was bad from what was good, burning away the bad and re-knitting the new to the best of his ability. He battled it back… cleared what he could, pushed the limits of his stamina. When he withdrew, at last, he knew he had not won the battle. He knew the disease was still there. It would return, but he had held it at bay for awhile, he hoped.

He realized he was gasping for breath. Healing, apparently, took something different out of him, something as tiring as dueling, or manipulating things with the Force. Maul had a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“You healed me?” the tattooed man said, his own chest rising and falling rapidly, either from the experience of healing or emotion, Obi-Wan could not tell.

“Possibly.” Inside, somewhere in his mind… soul maybe… he could feel _more_ of Maul. The connection they shared was stronger. He knew that Maul—like him—was pleased at the idea of staying there. Felt the possibilities, the hope of staying there. If he looked, he’d see a thin current of their Force signatures mingling, stretched between them. “I am not a professional, obviously… but I tried.”

“I believe it’s polite to ask first,” Maul said.

“Maul…” Obi-Wan protested.

He shook his head and leaned toward Obi-Wan.

“Varas,” he said. “I feel like a new man.”

And, in that, Obi-Wan realized he was not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I just watched the first few Mandalorian episodes and it reminded me I wrote this story awhile back, which is actually part three in a series. The first was written in 2000, the second in 2013, and this one two (three?) years ago. The first one is so old it gets heavy into midi-chlorians. (!!!) The prior stories are referenced here, but hopefully it reads okay without. The middle one isn't so bad (which tells you how I feel about the first!). Each answers some question I had about something that wasn't adequately addressed for me in the movies. I mean, why else do we write fanfic, right? And I loved Darth Maul as a character. So much. Maul from the Clone Wars series was closest to *my* Maul... they did such a fine job. Each Maul fic I write I think will be the last but you just never know. I might have one more in me. Maybe. Oh well. Doesn't matter. In any case, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this, at least a tiny bit.


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